


Gate 47B to Val Royeaux

by sallyamongpoison



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Addiction, Implied Sexual Content, Lyrium Addiction, M/M, Nudity, syringes and needles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-04-14 17:06:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 51,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4572663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallyamongpoison/pseuds/sallyamongpoison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starting over can be thrilling. Getting stuck in the airport for the night on the first leg of the journey, less so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

_Gate 47B to Val Royeaux: FLIGHT DELAYED_

Cullen’s stomach dropped. As if the last eight days hadn’t been long enough, now he was stuck in bloody Kirkwall for another...at least for now, two hours. It wasn’t that long, not in the grand scheme of things, but the timer on the schedule that was ticking down now seemed to be taking what was left of his resolve with it. Two hours was doable. He could find a seat and get himself sorted out for that long, or even buy himself some coffee or something to eat. If anything, it was something to do with his hands that were suddenly wringing together.

The gate wasn’t crowded, thankfully, so he could find a spot to drop his bag and sit down. Outside the place where their plane was meant to be was empty, delayed coming from its destination now. Thankfully he had no connections to make later or he’d really be in a state. As it was, when he pulled out his phone, he had no one to call that he’d be late. No one was coming to pick him up, only whatever cab he could find, and he’d already paid for his next two weeks at the extended stay hotel he was currently living in. No one really cared that he’d be late.

He flicked through his most recent messages. There weren’t really any of note other than Cassandra telling him where to get his badge on Monday. Even if he sent a message right now saying he was delayed it wouldn’t matter, since it was only Thursday. She’d probably think he was crazy. Mia would probably care if he called her, but there was always the chance he’d disrupt dinner or bath or bedtime. He hated pulling her away from whatever she was doing with the family, which was why he rarely called...or that’s what he told himself, anyway.

Maker, he just wanted to be away from this place. His stomach felt completely soured, had done for over a week now, and while it felt right to maybe go grab a cup of coffee so he could contemplate his troubles with something warm to hand he felt a bit sick at the idea of actually having to drink anything. Now Cullen just felt fidgety, like he couldn’t keep still, and he looked down at his phone again.

 _Samson._ No. Samson wouldn’t care that he was stuck there for another two hours. Odds were probably good that he was back at the flat already and either asleep or three beers in and wouldn’t be able to drive. When he’d dropped Cullen at the front doors what felt like hours ago things had been rather final and surprisingly less angry than he’d thought. The older man had told him to send a message when he got to Orlais and settled, but that seemed to be more by rote than concern. It had been a while since the man had really offered his concern, and Cullen had silently hoped that it was for real this time even if was the last time.

Cullen tucked his phone away, mostly to keep himself from temptation, and leaned over in the seat so his elbows rested on his knees and he could tangle his fingers in his hair. He felt sick. Eight days in Kirkwall after two months of being away had been enough to make him almost believe he was settling back into his normal life. Being back in the flat, surrounded by his and Samson’s things, had just about tricked him. That was home. It had been home for years, but there was that sour feeling in his stomach still. It was wrong. Kirkwall was wrong, and he needed to get out of there.

It was surprisingly easy to hire a company that would move his stuff to Orlais. Thankfully he had an interim place to live while his things traveled, the shitty hotel he’d been living out of a suitcase in, and more than enough time to hopefully find a real place before the truck got there. It had been a hasty move on his part, one with just a duffel bag and suitcase as he rang Cassandra to take the equally-hastily offered job. He’d bought a plane ticket at the counter for Val Royeaux and had been off before he’d really had a chance to think about it. Now he had to be back in Kirkwall to get the rest of his stuff and sort out whatever was left of his life there. Sadly, there wasn’t much.

The minutes on the timer ticked down. First to an hour, then thirty minutes, and there was no plane in sight. It was late, far later than it should have been, and when a well dressed but tired looking flight attendant took over the speaker everyone already knew:

“I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but Flight 1023O to Val Royeaux has been canceled on account of inclement weather. All flights to Val Royeaux have been delayed until tomorrow morning when the weather improves. Please see the courtesy desk for meal vouchers or if you need to make other arrangements.”

Cullen groaned. Another night. Another _fucking_ night in Kirkwall. He should get a hotel, but at this hour there’d be none to have. His thoughts wandered to his phone, to Samson, and if he should call and ask him to pick him up. No. It wasn’t worth having to spend another awkward night at what had once been his home. Even his stuff wasn’t there anymore, so what was the point? He squeezed his eyes shut then, a sudden wave of frustration and sadness washing over him. All he’d wanted to do was leave. Why did that have to be so hard?

\--

Canceled. _Fuck._ Dorian swiped his thumb across his phone and sent two quick messages: the first to Madame de Fer telling her he was stuck in bloody Kirkwall for the night and the second to Felix to complain about it. He snapped a photo, annoyed expression painted on his face, and sent it with a sigh. It was going to be a long night. He could demand someone get him a hotel for the trouble, but the likelihood that one would be available and to his standard at this hour on an airline voucher was...ugh.

He looked around then. The people sitting at the gate had stood around to complain a while before packing up to move elsewhere. The ones with kids would demand a hotel, hopefully, and keep the screaming in the mostly empty terminal to a minimum. If they had to be locked in like prisoners then they shouldn’t have the added bonus of being tortured. Though spending the night in an airport in, ugh, Kirkwall wasn’t Dorian’s idea of a good time by any means.

There seemed to be one good thing, however, in the shape of a very attractive man sitting over by the window. At least that meant Dorian had something nice to look at during all this. He took a breath and brushed a hand over his jeans to smooth them, wishing all the more now that he had something more comfortable to change into, before he made his way over to drop his bag in a set of chairs not terribly far from the handsome blond.

The guy looked rough, though. He was pale and looked a bit like he could use either a stiff drink or a good cry. Or both. Airports were funny in that way: they were either places of joy whilst being met by loved ones or horrible torture implements meant to frustrate with delays and cancellations. It was obvious which one it was now. Dorian was doing his best not to stare, or at least look interested without being creepy, and he rocked back on his heels before he turned around.

“Bit of shit, isn’t it?” he asked, seemingly to no one in particular but loud enough so the man might hear him. There were no headphone cables hanging from his ears so presumably he wasn’t otherwise occupied.

There was a pause, and for a moment Dorian wondered if maybe he was otherwise occupied, but after a moment the man turned and the Tevinter was met with some of the most beautiful honey-brown eyes that he’d seen in a long time. The harsh fluorescent lighting did nothing for him, poor man, but he was very nice to look at. “What?” he asked, a confused expression tugging at the scar that bisected his top lip a little.

Dorian gestured to the now empty gate, “This whole shitshow,” he offered, “couldn’t even get a hotel if we wanted one. Not that I’d trust one in Kirkwall at this hour. I like my kidneys where they are.”

The man still looked confused, like the fact that Dorian was speaking to him was unthinkable, but his gaze did seem to settle a little before he answered, “Oh. Yeah. Figures, doesn’t it? Trying to get out of this place and you get stuck.”

Those brown eyes were rimmed with red and looked puffy like the man had either been crying or about to. Definitely, he was in need of a drink. At least there was a bar in this hellhole of an airport that he’d passed on his way to the gate. “What say we make use of these cheap meal vouchers?” Dorian offered, “between the two of us I’d bet we can afford a sandwich at the newsstand.”

“I...what?”

Dorian flashed a rather winning smile. There was something about the man’s face that seemed almost wrong for how sad he looked. Someone so handsome should never be made to look as though he might cry. “You, me, a horrible quality meal at that tacky sport’s bar back a ways?” he stated, then held out a hand, “Dorian Pavus. Fellow stranded traveller and I hate eating alone. You look like a man who could use a drink, and I’m definitely in need of one now.”

For a moment he actually thought the man might say no. He looked a bit like a halla in the headlights, but after what felt like a small eternity a pale, freckled hand extended to take Dorian’s and shake. His hand was huge and engulfed Dorian’s like a great paw. “I’m Cullen,” he stated, “Rutherford. Sorry, I’ve...had a really bad day.”

Fereldan. Dorian knew the accent immediately. No wonder his hands were like paws. Oh, but they were lovely and warm against his own as they shook and let go. “Exactly why you need a drink and very probably something to eat,” he affirmed as he slung his bag over his shoulder, “so we’ll get our five dollar ticket and try to make it work, yes?”

Cullen nodded and Dorian smiled again as they made their way to the courtesy desk. They’d both been correct about hotels going quickly and with first priority to those with kids. It wasn’t even worth asking about, though both men shared a bit of an exasperated look as they were handed a voucher for twenty each. That was certainly generous, considering how cheap airlines usually were, and hopefully meant they wouldn’t have to pay too much out of pocket for whatever they ended up having.

As they headed back through the terminal, Dorian couldn’t help but notice the way that Cullen moved. His movements, even just walking, were incredibly precise. He didn’t look particularly comfortable in his skin, but there was something about the way a man built like that moved which was...very interesting. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and Dorian pulled it out to see a message waiting from Madame de Fer apologizing for him being stuck and that he should send his new details as soon as possible. Working with someone who was so put together was going to be wonderful, had been already even though he hadn’t made it there yet, and Dorian appreciated his good luck every step of the way.

“Did you miss a connecting flight?” Cullen asked. His voice was so soft and reserved for someone that looked like he did. The broad shoulders and strong arms had to mean he did something physical, but that gait? No, that was military. If he was military from Kirkwall, too, then no wonder he looked like he did.

Dorian shook his head, “No, just my ride,” he answered as they made their way up to the host stand and were shown to a table. Thankfully it wasn’t that busy so it wasn’t ridiculously loud, save for the televisions and music blaring, but there wasn’t much either of them could do about that. “Though it is a little embarrassing to have to tell your new boss you’re already late getting in,” Dorian went on, “even if it’s not my fault.”

He studied Cullen as they looked over the, admittedly lackluster, menu. It had the usual fare, but would hopefully keep them full enough to make it through the night trying to find somewhere comfortable in the terminal. The idea of trying to sleep leaning against the wall on floors that probably hadn’t been well and truly cleaned in weeks made Dorian’s skin crawl, but there weren’t any other options. The other man still looked...upset was really the only word for it. Sad, maybe, and frustrated for sure, but upset curled around Dorian’s tongue whenever he looked at that handsome face.

They ordered: a steak and glass of dark ale for Dorian and turkey sandwich and pilsner for Cullen. Dorian almost had to push to get the man to have a beer. He looked like he needed it. When the waitress had gone the Tevinter turned and watched as Cullen folded his arms on the table and leaned on them. It seemed he couldn’t lift those lovely amber eyes from the table for anything.

“Want to talk about it?” Dorian asked. One be-ringed finger traced over the tabletop as he watched Cullen. It wasn’t normally in his nature to be this nice, but the prospect of spending the night in the terminal alone didn’t really speak to him either.

\--

Cullen didn’t _want_ to talk about it. He didn’t understand why Dorian was being so nice to him, and it made him feel worse that he wasn’t more up to be enjoyable company. What he _wanted_ was to curl up and wallow until the flight left. He _wanted_ to send Samson a message, to not have left things like he had, and have his life back. Even if it was wrong, it was his and all this change made him feel terrible.

“Just spending a night in the airport sucks,” he answered, and only just managed to tear his gaze away from the table long enough to look at Dorian. He’d come upon Cullen like a whirlwind, making his head spin, and now it felt like he’d only just been set down long enough to contemplate where he was now. The man looked so put together, so unlike Cullen at the moment, and he felt jealous. Dorian probably knew where he was going, wasn’t feeling like he was about to drown, which was almost just as bad as if he’d been left alone.

The other man snickered a little and shook his head. His index finger and thumb of one hand smoothed at the rather eccentrically styled facial hair as he stared into Cullen’s eyes. It made him feel uncomfortable. Those was like those eyes pierced all the way down into his soul and saw all the things he was only barely keeping tied together at the moment. “Well, it does, but I’d bet you whatever amount of money you like that there’s something more to it than that,” he pointed out, and Cullen’s gaze settled back on the table. Everyone could always read him like a book. Both Samson and Meredith had said that it was a good thing he wasn’t much of one for cards or he’d have lost all the time.

It took a moment before he answered “does it really matter?” and only looked up as their drinks were brought over. He hadn’t wanted the beer, not really, since he hated drinking to dull pain. All it was going to do was sour his stomach more, but it felt kind of right to have a glass of something close.

Dorian shrugged, “Suppose not,” he replied as he took a deep pull from his beer, “you just look like you could use an ear.” It was a nice offer, and actually rather attractive coming from a stranger. Cullen knew he couldn’t talk to anyone he was close to about this. It was too hard to say the words.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and felt that same wave of frustration and sadness crash over him. Cullen felt overwhelmed and was desperately trying to keep it held back. The two months he’d been gone from Kirkwall should have helped to bolster his resolve, but all it had done was ostensibly make it worse. He’d come back with expectations, both for himself and how things might play out, and everything had more or less ended up a disappointment. Sure, he’d gotten his stuff out and everything, which was a step forward, but how he’d wanted to handle it had gone just completely wrong.

_“I could...I could stay.”_

_“Why? You’ve been gone this long already, what do you have to come back to?”_

Those words had been a punch in the gut. Partly because Samson had said them in his usual deadpan that had no warmth or regret at all, but mostly because he was _right_. Cullen had nothing left in Kirkwall. His job had been a nightmare, his relationship was...well, it wasn’t really anything anymore. He’d felt like he was wandering in a fog for the last two years and suddenly jarring himself out of it in a fit of panic and anger had sobered him from the sluggish and hazy rut he’d been slogging through. That rut had been so easy, though. It was comfortable.

Even coming back to the flat had been easy. It wasn’t the shitty hotel room he’d been renting, he wasn’t alone, and it felt like _home_. They’d lived together in that flat for four of the six years he and Samson had been together. Immediately it felt like he’d only been gone for maybe a weekend or something, and he and Samson had settled back into their usual routines. They’d shared their bed, slept together, and Cullen felt like things were maybe more right than they had been. Maybe he’d just needed some time away. Maybe if he stayed this time it wouldn’t feel like his chest was clamped in a vice all the time and his soul was fading with every passing day as he went to a job that he started to distrust and hate with every day he had to be there. Maybe.

The night he and Samson had fucked, there was no other word for it, the older man had told Cullen that he’d missed him. It had been late into the night, curled in their bed that smelled of them both, and it had thrilled him in ways he couldn’t remember feeling for the better part of two years. Samson had never been a romantic kind of guy, never gave in to pretty words unless they were in the throes of something passionate, but that was the closest Cullen had felt to him in years. They’d been drifting beside each other, trying to find a foothold somewhere, and had stopped being together in favor of just existing near each other. That soft statement gave him hope. Then…

_“Orlais’ll be good for you.”_

_“You think so?”_

_“I think you doing something different before it kills you is good for you.”_

_“What about...you know-”_

_“Us? Come on.”_

A ragged sound left him, and Cullen looked back up to meet Dorian’s face. He hadn’t realized he’d checked out like that, lost as he’d felt. He wasn’t crying, not yet, but his face felt hot and tight with the effort it took to not break right there. Dorian looked concerned, and all Cullen could do was pinch at the bridge of his nose before he moved to take a few long gulps of his beer.

“I just wanted to get the fuck out of Kirkwall,” he muttered, unable to speak any louder for the shake in his voice, “I’m supposed to be starting over, but it feels like I’m drowning.”

\--

Sympathy was something Dorian Pavus wanted to believe he was good at. He was intelligent, good looking, charming, well-rounded, and a people person. Sympathy was supposed to come from all of those traits wrapped up in a person, weren’t they? Seeing Cullen like that, he half remembered a train ticket purchased in the middle of the night with his duffle bag that looked not unlike Cullen’s tucked between his feet. He remembered his own wet eyes and shaking hands and wondered if that was real sympathy he felt or if it was just him projecting his own shit onto Cullen.

“I hear Orlais is a good place to start over,” he offered, “I mean, it is. It’s why I picked it too.” Dorian was trying to smile, trying to distract, trying to _sympathize_. He felt completely tumbled inside, though perhaps not as much as Cullen seemed to, and hoped that maybe some sort of shared something might help ease whatever it was this guy was going through. Something about Cullen, Dorian didn’t know what, made him want to help.

Cullen sniffed once and licked his lips, “it’s hard to feel like you’re doing it right when you get stalled at the gate.”

“Heh,” Dorian chuckled. He wasn’t sure if the other man quite got the pun, but he didn’t point it out. “It’s only a few more hours,” he offered, “and it’s the airport. It’s not like we’re spending the night in Hightown.” In what world he’d be comparing sleeping in an airport terminal to an actual room in the city was a bit beyond him, but if Cullen was from here then he could understand the need to get out. The place was, for as briefly as Dorian had stayed, a shithole.

He’d needed a place to stay for a few months while he got his research together. Getting out and away from Tevinter had been hard, considering the near constant barrage of guilt and anger from his parents, so taking some time for himself had been necessary. Dorian had locked himself in some share house room for three weeks just gathering and compiling his work that he’d done while working with Alexius. He’d needed everything in order to send off so he could find another research position. What he’d had to leave had to be either rewritten or outlined again, and without Alexius’ hand to guide him it had been a rough process. There had been a knot in his stomach constantly that he’d have to give it up and go back because he couldn’t do it on his own.

No one had been interested. He’d sent his proposals to any and every name he could find in any database he could look in. All the rejection letters had been burned, along with most of Dorian’s resolve. That knot had ended up turning into a pretty horrible bout of acid reflux that probably wasn’t helped by his near-constant drinking of either wine or coffee. With his accounts frozen he’d had to make some hard decisions, take risks that a year before he wouldn’t have even considered, but it probably did him some good. It pushed him to do things for himself instead of just trying to put another layer of shine on the family name.

_I’ve had a read through of your proposal and I’d like to extend an offer of enrollment to our College. We’d love to have someone of your talent in our circle._

Those words had given Dorian hope. Vivienne de Fer was not someone he’d expected to accept. If anything, him sending his research to her had been in a drunk blaze of perceived glory. Now it only occurred to him that he should find that brand and vintage again and use it to fortify him whenever he needed some extra courage. He’d been given a position and was maybe, finally, finding his place in the world.

“This isn’t anything like Hightown,” Cullen’s words shook Dorian from his thoughts, and he smiled warmly. The other man’s voice was still soft and controlled, like he was keeping a wall of water back, but there was a measure of amusement there. Dorian was good at picking that out. “At least in Hightown you get more than a row of chairs with armrests between each of them so you can’t lie down,” the Fereldan went on.

“Very true,” Dorian agreed with a nod, and took another drink from his beer, “and if this beer is anything to go by, we’re slumming it tonight. But I suppose it’s not so bad.” Surprisingly, even to himself, he believed that.

“How is it not so bad?”

Again, Dorian smiled, “Well, we’re not alone. We have that stupidly romantic airplane friendship in our favor, except it’s going to last longer than three hours and two single serving cocktails.”

“That’s a movie reference, isn’t it?” Cullen asked.

“You, my friend, get to have me for the whole evening. Consider yourself lucky.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night is spent in the terminal, and both men contemplate what moving forward means.

The terminal pretty much shut down after midnight, leaving any and all trapped there to their own devices and the relative quiet that was only interrupted every ten minutes with various pre-recorded messages about baggage safety. The airline had been nice enough to give them some of the crappy blankets and pillows, which Dorian had completely refused. Something about touching anything like that, even if they were sealed in plastic, making his skin crawl had been hissed through clenched teeth. To be fair, camping on the floor of their gate near a power point really didn’t sound that great either, but they both had phones to charge and Dorian had a laptop to at least wile away some time on. Sitting beside each other, bags between them, wasn’t so bad.

Dorian had been good enough to put some movie on the laptop so they’d have something to watch, but Cullen’s mind just wasn’t with it. He wanted so badly to focus on anything but the last eight days, or the last two months, or...hell, even the last three years. That wasn’t happening. It was exhausting, but he couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes. Cullen wanted so badly to just be back in his little rented room where he could crawl into bed and pray he’d sleep deeply enough not to dream. He wanted to be back home stretched out on the couch with something terrible on television while Samson grumped about having to make them something to eat. Anything that would make him feel like he was where he was supposed to be.

Instead, he noted as his gaze flicked to the side, he had Dorian draped over both their bags with his eyes shut. He had someone he didn’t even know that had shown him more compassion than his lover had in the last however many fucking years. Dorian had talked to him, met his eyes when Cullen would allow it, and was trying to either make him smile or make him feel not so alone. Why he was doing that was a bit beyond Cullen, but it didn’t matter. This being stuck was terrible, made his back and arse hurt for how they had to be on the cold floor, but in a moment he’d sort of made a connection to someone in a way he hadn’t in a long time.

The other man was asleep: snoring softly against one bronze arm that his head was pillowed on. Dorian looked comfortable, despite the odd angle he was sitting, and the amused mask was well away for how serene he looked while he slept. It was honest. It was...well, it was kind of attractive. Dorian was attractive. Cullen had always liked to look at Samson when the other man slept, but his ex had always worn a grim face. Dorian’s was different. That, and the little snuffling sounds he made were kind of sweet.

Having that so close was oddly comforting, and Cullen tipped his head back against the wall as he closed his eyes. The sound of that annoying baggage safety message stretched until it was almost intelligible, and for a moment it felt like he was back home when things had been good. The movie playing could have been anything, and the sleeping form beside him was really nice. Instinctively, one of Cullen’s hands moved to brush along the soft hair that was so close to his fingers. He twisted the strands gently, short fingernails raking over the other man’s scalp, as he let himself be carried off to a not-terribly restful doze. Everything else be damned, maybe he could have a moment to himself.

It wasn’t long later that the body next to him shifted, moved closer, and Cullen felt a gentle weight against his arm. Samson always did wriggle closer when they napped on the couch. He liked being in Cullen’s lap, more or less, and that made the Fereldan lift his arm to accommodate the warmth so he could trace patterns along his back. This was good. It felt right. In his hazy half-asleep state he hardly recognized that the man curled in closer to him wasn’t at all the man he expected it to be. That, or he didn’t care. Not now.

\--

Dorian woke with a gentle start. He hadn’t expected to fall asleep like he had, and he lifted a hand to wipe away the slightly embarrassing hint of drool that had pooled near his mouth. Grey eyes blinked twice at the awkward lighting of the terminal, and he pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. What time was it? Nevermind, what time was it and where the hell was he?

“Shit,” he grumbled as he tipped his head back and saw the very handsome looking man he’d shared a very awkward dinner with. They were on the floor. Right. Terminal. Movie. Neither hadn’t really been much for conversation so they’d elected to just sit and relax together, and it seemed as though they’d certainly gotten comfortable. Cullen looked half out of it and pale, but Dorian didn’t bother him. It would have been awful to ruin what few minutes they had of peace between announcements and the sound of random people walking by.

As he shifted, he became aware of Cullen’s hand resting at the back of his neck. His skin felt numb and sluggish for how he’d been sleeping so he hadn’t noticed, but he noticed the warmth against him now. It made this tricky, in that he really _should_ have moved out of Cullen’s hold. It would have been accidental, he knew that much, but that didn’t mean that Dorian didn’t enjoy it. He hadn’t had a companion in a hot minute, and Cullen’s pale strength and handsome features were certainly enough to give him pause. _Fuck it_ , they were two guys alone in fucking Kirkwall and if Dorian wanted to enjoy the feeling of Cullen’s hand on his back for a few hours then he was going to let it ride.

The Tevinter settled himself a bit more comfortably, eyes on the now quiet laptop screen as he tried to map out Cullen’s hand from the press of it against his neck. It made him feel quiet, soft, and while he tried to keep his mind on something so wholly present he couldn’t help but let his mind wander to another time. Just that gentle hand reminded him all too well of waking up just after dawn, tangled up in the arms and legs of some pampered boy or other, and having to run out before anyone noticed he was gone. Dorian could recall long nights doing all manner of every kind of act of deviance, partially for the need of it and partially for the sting of spite, but every morning was spent ducking into a cab or walking back to wherever he was staying before the city started to bustle too much and anyone he knew might be about.

_“You’re beautiful…”_

_“You’re observant.”_

He’d taken a lot of things on board before he’d made his choices to leave home. Everything had a purpose, and while it had been stupid and kind of dangerous to go like he had Dorian knew he had more than enough tools at his personal disposal to keep his head above water. Granted, it hadn’t _felt_ like his head had been above water at the time. Dorian recognized that in Cullen, though the other man hadn’t said more than a few words about anything. He even recognized the restless doze the other man was in as one that he’d had to medicate with a bottle of wine and then some a night just to get any sleep at all. Maybe he could sympathize after all and all it took was a handsome man in a similar situation to highlight it. What better way to find out, right?

One hand reached out to pick at a few keys on the laptop and before long something else was playing. It was loud enough to cover the sound of the loudspeaker and nothing too serious that he felt the need to pay attention. Perfect. Dorian closed his eyes again, took a breath, and tried to will himself back into that deep sleep he’d just come out of. Even if it was for half an hour it would do him better than to lie there and contemplate the things he was leaving behind.

Gereon hadn’t been terribly supportive of him just ducking off like he’d done, though Dorian had only ever mentioned it in passing, but had sent a message not long after the lease on the room in the sharehouse had been signed that if Dorian needed anything to let him know. Since Felix had gotten sick his mentor had been little to no help at anything, which had spurred on his desire to get the hell out, but even that little bit of support had been welcome. Felix, too, was always someone he could chat to. Dorian had precious few people in his life that he could trust with whatever he was doing, and he appreciated that neither Felix nor his ex-mentor would tell his family where he was.

It was going to be alright, though. He’d gotten himself a position all on his own, with no help via his name or family or whatever, and he was going to do good things. Orlais was a good place to get his feet under him, even if he didn’t stay for very long. It was something new and different and totally his own for the first time in his life and _Maker save me_. Staying in Kirkwall had been a necessary evil in the form of just needing a place to live, but this was something else all together. His experience in Circles back home hadn’t been the best, mostly due to his own actions, so the the only person he’d be fucking over should he decide to go into a spiral again was himself. That was a tough pill to swallow. Before, it had been a reason to get his parents’ hackles up. Now? It would be yet another reason for them to tell him ‘I told you so’ and that he had no other place in the world other than with them. No. This was going to work out.

Beside him, Cullen’s breathing had evened out a little. Good thing, too, because the man looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Whatever had happened in Kirkwall, considering his reaction to having to stay, must have been pretty awful. Dorian tried to imagine what it could have been: work, breakup, family. It could have been anything. While they’d eaten Cullen had barely spoken but looked like he had the weight of the world on him. On anyone else it might have looked melodramatic, but he was wearing it less like a badge of honor and more like an anchor tied to his feet. Something about that made Dorian’s stomach clench, and there was a part of him that wanted to...do something, even if it was just offer up some company. Clearly the other man needed it, considering their current situation.

They stayed like that for a while, with Dorian drifting in and out, until either the cold of the floor or the sounds of the airport starting to wake up made them stir. Cullen’s hand had never moved from the back of Dorian’s neck, he noted with equal parts surprise and enjoyment, though every so often his did feel tick fingers tangling in his hair. How wonderful that had been after such a day, too. He finally sat up, dislodging himself so he could stretch, and yawned against the back of his hand. Everything kind of ached for how they’d been sitting, but it felt good to see signs of life.

“What time is it?” Cullen asked, voice a bit thick with disuse, and rubbed at his eyes. He still looked pale, though there was something a little endearing about seeing him just waking up. Oh, what Dorian wouldn’t have given to see him look that way after a better night than sleeping on the floor of the fucking Kirkwall Airport. Ah well.

He slid his phone out of his pocket then and checked the time, “Just after five,” he answered, “flights should start going out in an hour or so. I bet we could grab an early one.”

Cullen moved a little so he could stretch, and Dorian casually glanced out of the corner of his eye at him. There was a lot of muscle in those arms and it was a nice sight to see them all stretched and lifted above his head. It had been a while since he’d been with someone, so his thoughts about just _how_ Cullen could have his arms stretched tight over his head were less than pure, but it almost felt strange to think of the other man like that. Maker, maybe he was more tired than he thought.

They gathered up their stuff, shouldered bags and jackets, and made for whoever had coffee ready and available. The good thing about being there so early was that most of the little restaurants had things out fresh. Even by nine most of the baked goods would be on the way to stale, so breakfast definitely needed to happen. Something strong and sweet would probably do Dorian more good than trying for another hour to sleep on the floor anyway. Stretching his legs was good too.

They found some chain coffee shop and ordered, though Cullen was adamant about paying for Dorian’s coffee and pastry. “As a thanks for the company,” he’d told Dorian through a slightly shy kind of smile. Maybe that sleep had done him better than he’d thought. It was nice. Had he known before, he might not have asked for something so complicated, but Cullen had only smiled. Dorian liked his coffee strong and sweet and complicated, much like he liked himself, but it seemed Cullen liked whatever was easiest to get. Well, no, Dorian didn’t quite believe that. Cullen looked like a man who wouldn’t let himself splurge and get what he really wanted even if it was just a cup of coffee.

\--

As they stood, waiting for their coffee to be made, Cullen lifted his gaze to study Dorian. They’d napped, more or less, beside each other, and Cullen had woken to Dorian shrugging off his arm. He remembered thinking he was home, back with Samson, and Dorian hadn’t said a word. It seemed they were comfortable, enough that they’d both slept, which was something Cullen hadn’t really felt in a long time. He thought about the nights he’d spent back at the flat, back in his and Samson’s bed, and he couldn’t remember thinking ‘comfortable’ was the right word for it. It felt easy, like getting up and puttin on the same uniform every day felt easy, but maybe not ‘comfortable.’

“So, you said you were starting over too?” Cullen asked as he tucked his hands into his pockets, “in Val Royeaux?” They hadn’t talked much the night before, but something about that little bit of sleep had actually helped his mood. Go figure.

Dorian looked up from his phone where he’d been clicking away at sending messages, “Hm?” he asked, then smiled a little. Under that mustache his smile was...well, Cullen hadn’t seen one like that in a while. Not a lot of people he knew smiled like that. “I just got a research position at Montsimmard College,” he went on, “prestigious, yes? Vivienne de Fer doesn’t take on research assistants for no reason.”

One of Cullen’s eyebrows rose for that. “You’re a mage,” and he blinked twice. Immediately a rush of fear knotted around his stomach and he had to fight to keep from taking a step back. Mage. Mage. _Mage. Mage. Mage. Mage. Mage._

The other man turned and smiled again, “I am,” he answered with a nod and tucked his phone in his pocket. Cullen could feel those grey eyes searching his face, and he watched as Dorian’s expression changed, “are you...okay?”

_Mage. Mage. Mage. Mage. Mage_. His heart was pounding. “I am, yeah,” Cullen answered with a quick shake of his head before he lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. A mage. Dorian was a mage. He’d spent the whole night sitting beside a mage and had been more comfortable than he had been in years. He should have known. He should have been able to tell. “I just...I…” he went on, then fumbled a little.

“Order for Dorian and order for Cullen!” one of the servers shouted as two large cups were placed on the bar. It made Cullen jump, and he squeezed at the back of his neck.

Dorian grabbed the cups, and as he handed Cullen his there was a brief moment where just the tips of their fingers touched. Maybe he imagined it, took, but there was something like was like the crackle of mana that he hadn’t been around in a hot minute. The mage grinned, and he took a step backward, “Templar. I should have guessed.”

Technically they weren’t enemies. Not really. Dorian wasn’t even from Kirkwall, after all. Cullen knew that. “Ex-Templar,” he amended, “recently.”

The other man nodded, “Good for me, then,” and sipped his drink, “especially around here.”

Awkward. This suddenly got a lot more awkward. “We should see about getting a flight out of here once things open up,” Cullen offered, “something early?”

One of Dorian’s well sculpted brows rose, “We?” he repeated, “are we a...we, now?”

Cullen shrugged and he sipped from his coffee. It was only just sweet enough to make the horribly dark roast not bitter, which was surprisingly not so bad after the night he’d had. “You’re the one who asked me first, remember?” he pointed out.

“Ah yes,” Dorian chuckled, “well then, lead on. Maybe we can manage to get out of here before the rest of our fellow passengers start making demands, hm?”

Well, if he wanted something completely different...this was it.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they make it to Val Royeaux and both Dorian and Cullen contemplate what it means to have a friend close by.

The morning stretched on a bit longer than Dorian had hoped it would. After that little revelation between them while waiting for their coffee things had become just a bit more awkward, though it seemed like Cullen was trying not to acknowledge it. He smiled, though it was more than a little shy, which Dorian did appreciate. There was no reason for him to be concerned about a Templar, not really, since he had himself in check and had a respectable place to go. Southern Templars were different to the ones he knew, they had more power and more authority, and he’d worked reasonably hard to keep away from them. Now here he was enjoying the presence of one, ex or otherwise.

Finally another flight had been sorted out, and both Cullen and Dorian were upgraded since they were traveling alone. That was the main draw of not being in a pair or with a family, after all. They could enjoy their coffee and real breakfast in seats that didn’t cramp like sardines, and not feel bad about taking a spot from someone else. That, and a few words here and there with a couple of the other passengers allowed them to sit together. It wasn’t something Dorian had expected to enjoy, but there was certainly something about having Cullen settled in beside him that was very nice.

They’d picked at the fruit plate they were given, and Dorian couldn’t help but watch Cullen suck bits of melon and berries in against handsomely scarred lips. It had been long enough that the sight of that made his blood run a bit hot, and Dorian had to busy himself by sitting at the cool water they’d been given lest his mind wander somewhere decidedly more difficult to conceal. Cullen was an attractive man, one steeped in sadness, which made it easy to fantasize about him. There was something delightfully sexy about a man who might lose that sadness in a fit of passion as a means to forget.

_Damn it._

Dorian shifted in his seat a bit and closed his eyes. This wasn’t supposed to be about him making eyes at someone. This was supposed to be him moving on and doing something for himself. Okay, so maybe Cullen could be something(or someone) he could do for himself too. They were headed to the same place, after all. Val Royeaux was a big place, but not so big that they would have to lose each other upon getting to the airport. It would be nice to have a friend, or at least someone he knew, anyway.

When their food and drinks had been cleared, Dorian pulled out a pair of headphones. His ears had popped a long while ago, so he and Cullen exchanged only small smiles here and there. That was fine, though. As he flipped through his music selection in an attempt to find something that would cancel out the loud white noise of the plane, a sudden weight against his shoulder made him look over. It hadn’t been five minutes, but already a mop of curly blond hair was resting against him as Cullen dozed off. Maybe he hadn’t slept as well as Dorian had thought.

The other man jolted awake, the act of his head lolling to the side enough to stir him, and he chuckled a bit, “Sorry,” he told Dorian, “I’ve never been able to sleep sitting up.”

One hand lifted to pull his headphones down off his ears, and he chuckled. It was a sight to behold: Cullen with messy hair and sleepy eyes. That shouldn’t have been so attractive. “You’ve been up for a while,” he pointed out, “don’t worry, hm?”

Cullen smiled and settled back into the seat. The trip was only a few hours, but hopefully long enough that a nap would be worth it. At least the seats were moderately comfortable and didn’t feel like they were too cramped to sleep. Dorian found it easier to let himself drift, especially when he finally picked some music, and his mind wandered to what was going to be waiting for him when they got to Val Royeaux. There were, of course, some nerves about being in a new place. That was to be expected. However, his mind started to move more toward his research and the fact that he could work properly again. His successes would be his own, not anyone else’s and that was enough to make his heart beat faster in anticipation.

Every so often, despite his want to sleep, Dorian would open one eye to study Cullen. The other man dozed beside him, chest moving deep and rhythmically, which made his lips part in a soft snore. It probably wasn’t the most attractive angle for the man, but seeing Cullen more or less completely relaxed was an interesting sight. He was big and broad, but when he relaxed the years and world-weariness seemed to melt off him. Sleeping like he was, the man looked so much younger.

Slowly Cullen’s head dropped back down to Dorian’s shoulder, but this time he didn’t wake. His was a comforting warmth pressed against the mage’s arm and side, and Dorian chuckled before he leaned a little against him and closed his eyes as well. They were both at a comfortable angle that Dorian could nap against Cullen’s solid form, and he dropped off faster than he rather meant to. The feeling of soft blond hair curled against his cheek was rather nice, despite the fact that Dorian would have much preferred to have shaved before that happened, and even after a long night in an airport terminal Cullen still smelled a little like cologne and something...just nice.

A not-so-subtle bump what felt like moment made Dorian jolt awake, and he lifted one hand to rub at his eyes. Landing. They were landing. He’d slept the entire time. Again his hand lifted and he pulled off his headphones. The landing made his ears pop again, and the music was enough to disorient him further. Beside him, Cullen yawned and looked up a little. Again that sleepy-sexy expression was written on his face with the warm sunlight coming in through the window. Well, that was a good way to end the trip, anyway.

“I don’t remember falling asleep,” Cullen muttered as he scrubbed large hands over his face, and he looked down at Dorian’s shoulder. For a moment they both looked down, and Dorian braced himself to see a puddle of drool going down his chest. There wasn’t. Thank the Maker. Cullen was attractive, but there was only so much Dorian was willing to forgive before a phone number had been given.

The upgrade made disembarking easy, though Dorian’s joints creaked a bit more than he was comfortable with when he finally got to his feet. He was tired of these clothes, wanted a shower, and wanted somewhere soft to fall into and- _oh shit_.

They were there. They were in Val Royeaux. It wasn’t some distant ‘eventually’ statement anymore. He was there and that meant he had real work and real life to deal with now. No more excuses. Maker, but how he wanted to indulge for just a while longer so he could sleep and have a proper bath. Real life could wait until then, couldn’t it? Surely. Or at least until he’d had another cup of coffee and washed his face. At this point he’d take either one.

The airport was bustling already, people running to and fro in attempt to not be late. After last night, Dorian felt no real need to move with any kind of speed. The bags would be there when they got to the carousel, and stretching his legs felt far better than crowding around so he could get the first glimpse of his suitcase. That, and he didn’t quite feel like moving away from the warm of Cullen’s form that was just off to his left. If possible, the man looked even better in the relative sunlight that was pouring in from the giant windows.

Cullen was Dorian’s only friend. Well, no, that was presumptive. They weren’t friends. It would have been more accurate to say that Dorian knew no one other than Cullen in a way that wasn’t for work. Madame de Fer was a colleague, his superior, and not a friend. Anyone he met at the College would be much the same. Cullen’s face was a friendly one, one that had gone through the same inconvenience he had, and the thought of having to part now almost felt wrong. Yes, he had a place to go and more or less had things sorted out, but the way Cullen looked around didn’t really seem like he was happy to be there. In all honesty, the man hadn’t looked happy during any of the time they’d spoken.

Maybe it would be foolish to think…

_Maybe._

\--

They both leaned against the railing on the way down the escalator, though Dorian’s attention was on his phone now. It must be nice to have people to get in touch with, let them know he made it, and feel like he had a purpose. Secretly, Cullen was jealous. All he had to do was grab a cab when they got out to the front. He could go back to his shithole motel room and take a shower before going to bed on sheets that weren’t his and in a room that he felt no connection to. It made his stomach twist back into the knots it had been in since he’d left for Kirkwall a week ago.

“So...you have someone picking you up?” Cullen asked. He was trying to sound nonchalant. If he pretended that he didn’t care about Dorian’s companionship then maybe whenever they inevitably parted ways it wouldn’t be so...well, not _bad_ , but a little sad. Upsetting, maybe. He was two months into living in this place and no one had been so accommodating. Not really, anyway. At least, not anyone he really noticed.

Grey eyes lifted from where he was studying the screen, and Dorian smiled a tired kind of smile. He looked rumpled, though no less effortlessly attractive. Somehow, even the mussed hair and wrinkled clothes made him look that much better. He was approachable, open, though maybe only to Cullen. Suddenly that air of concern about him being a mage was far from his mind. In another life it would have been a deal breaker and something to give him reason to hate Dorian for, but for now Cullen couldn’t quite see beyond those beautiful eyes and relatively easygoing personality. Attraction was a dangerous, and often stupid, thing.

His phone beeped sharply, and Dorian turned his attention back to it before he tucked it into his pocket, “Apparently I do now,” he answered, “saves having to worry about renting a car and all that after being up for so long.” Dark circles were just starting to show under his eyes, though nowhere near as deep and dark as Cullen’s were. There was probably a history there, maybe long nights holed up and working on something equal parts brilliant and terrifying, which only came out now under extreme duress. Dorian didn’t look like a man who purposefully let himself suffer.

Cullen nodded and pulled out his phone as well. Nothing new. That wasn’t surprising. It was slightly embarrassing, but not surprising. “Well, that’s good,” he began, and started to put his phone back into his pocket when Dorian reached out and deftly plucked it from his fingers, “uh...what are you doing?”

“You’re not going to ask me for my number,” Dorian pointed out as he swiped one ringed thumb across the lock screen and set to opening up his contacts, “so I’ll do it for you.”

He almost couldn’t believe that. No one had ever been so forward. Samson had waited months to ask for his number, and even then it had been under work pretenses, so to have someone quite literally take his phone from him to put theirs in? Cullen didn’t know what to do with that? “Confident, aren’t you?” he asked as they stepped off the escalator and took a few steps off to the side where Dorian seemed to be perfectly content taking his time with adding his name.

That confidence was nice. “Practically my middle name,” Dorian commented as he looked up at Cullen for a brief moment before going back to what he was doing, “but you and I are also going to be in desperate need of someone to go for a drink with after a long day.” He smirked again and lifted the phone as though he was using it like a mirror. The mage smoothed his hair and his mustache, snapped a picture, and promptly went back to his tapping at the screen before he handed it back.

Cullen was almost dumbfounded. It should have been a breach of privacy. He should have been pissed off that Dorian just took his phone. He’d taken it like he had every right to, and Cullen just _let him_. Maker, maybe he was more out of it than he thought. Grief, perhaps. Fear. Something. Something had made his brain short out to the point that all he could do was look down at the phone, now warmed by Dorian’s hands, and try to sort out just what the hell had happened.

“Go home and get settled,” Dorian instructed, “but let me know you made it alright, hm? You look about to drop and I don’t like being worried about...well, people I know.”

Friends, perhaps? Was that an amendment of a word the other man wasn’t ready to admit? Was Cullen? Was he just hoping that maybe this weird kindness was an extension of that and not some, frankly, insane coincidence. “What about you?” he asked, “you have somewhere you’re staying already?”

The mage nodded, “student housing until I find something else,” and tipped his head to the side, “or something. I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

Cullen believed him. Dorian had such a capable air to him, almost like the first breath after being underwater too long, and even just hearing those words made the slight concern curling around Cullen’s heart ease a little. He hadn’t even realized that was _there_. “Well, um...you know, if you need anything,” he offered, then lowered his gaze down to their shoes. It felt stupid to even offer as much to someone who’d probably be perfectly comfortable in a day. Here he was, months later, and could only just manage to get his shit sorted out. There wouldn’t be anything attractive about _that_ , surely.

“Appreciated,” Dorian nodded. He couldn’t help but notice the small smile that made the edges of Dorian’s mustache twitch upward. Perhaps it was good to have someone offer, even if they seemed in a worse situation. It was comforting. People, most people, liked to be comforted.

They’d parted ways not long after that. Cullen had no bags to collect since most of his stuff was on a truck, and he really did just want to get somewhere with a shower and bed. Dorian shook his hand, warm and nimble fingers covered in all manner of jewelry pressed against his own, and spoken to him as though Cullen were someone he’d known for years. He demanded Cullen call on him after a few days, squeezed his hand a fraction of a moment longer than necessary, and searched honey-brown eyes with those grey ones. Cullen felt it all the way down in his stomach, too.

When he grabbed a cab and settled into the back, Cullen pulled his phone from his pocket. It was warm from his own body heat, but the remembered warmth of Dorian’s hands stuck with him. Maker, it was stupid. Someone had been nice to him and here he was acting like they needed to make best friend bracelets or something like his sisters had done when they were kids. he unlocked the screen and immediately went to his contacts to inspect what Dorian had taken so much time on. Cullen chuckled when he saw that the man had written his name and added the small emoticon of the plane, as though Cullen might forget, and pulled up the picture Dorian had taken. He still looked tired, but there was no mistaking that slight smirk and how gorgeous those eyes were.

_You’ve just ended things with Samson. This isn’t anything. Stop it._

The realization made him feel like he was full of rocks. That just staring at that handsome face reminded him of a time so long ago it almost felt like a dream. He could remember a time when he’d checked his phone constantly in the hopes that there’d be something. Anything. He’d been wanted, and it had been an amazing feeling. Cullen had been so angry and Samson had let him be. They’d been explosive together. It had been all he’d wanted and needed. They’d burned so hot and so fast that Cullen didn’t even notice it had cooled. Then they were just…

Cullen looked back down at the picture of Dorian. That smile had nothing like a fireball in it. It was slow and searching and it made something slower burn down in Cullen’s blood. This was different. This was…

_Stop it._

He gritted his teeth then and flicked his gaze back up toward the meter. With traffic and everything else, there was a bit of a ride back to his motel. So saying, Cullen opened a message and started to write. _New start. This is a new start._

\--

Dorian had only just grabbed his bag and was headed out the main doors of the airport when his phone buzzed. It wasn’t a number he recognized, but the message made him smile:

_Don’t get into trouble with the kids. Maybe we could meet for drinks once we’ve managed to sleep a little? It’s Cullen, by the way._


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian and Cullen find their places in Val Royeaux, reflect a little on past lives, and meet up after their first week.

The key card felt heavy in his hands as he studied it. It looked absolutely the same as the one in Kirkwall, though less faded and with different section numbers, but when Cassandra had handed it to him there had been something decidedly more somber than when he’d picked up the one from Meredith years ago. Back then he’d been just trying to do the job, do something else, get away from where he’d been. Now he was actively trying to do better. Even more than that, he was trying to be a better person. It was slow going, definitely, but he was trying as hard as he could.

“Technically you still work for the Templars,” Cassandra commented as she leaned against the table, “this was just a transfer. I’m not...well, I’m not so sure we need to go around announcing that there are some bad things happening just yet.”

Cullen nodded. No one had questioned his request to leave Kirkwall, especially when a position had opened up that he was good for, but poking things and people without a plan had strange ways of ruining any good intentions one had. Technically speaking, that was why he was there. After the riots in Kirkwall, Cassandra had approached him to work under her. She was a Seeker, a Templar superior higher than Knight Commander, and she’d wanted his help to flush out the dirty dealings that had started to become so commonplace within the Order. He’d jumped at the chance, partially out of want for something new but mostly because he’d had enough of it himself.

“You’re the boss, Boss,” he offered with the smallest of smiles. Cullen liked Cassandra quite a bit, actually. She was tough, not to be messed with, but warm underneath. On the night she’d offered him the job, essentially, he’d been about as low as he could remember feeling. Meredith was...well, it seemed the job had broken her. She’d been strung out on something for a while, yet the superiors seemed to think she was fully fit to serve. It hadn’t been pretty and Cullen was about five steps away from some sort of breakdown if he had to shoulder any more of her insane ordinances and threats. The Seeker had been a breath of fresh air and he’d wanted nothing more than to follow where he’d never been before.

They chatted for a while longer before Cassandra left Cullen to find his office and get settled. With his normal work already piling up, their own personal agendas were going to have to be saved for encrypted emails and non-work hours. It was a tough gig to be the vigilante crew, but it wasn’t as though Cullen had anything else to do with his life. When he’d gotten back to the crappy hotel he was staying at he’d sent Samson a message that he’d made it, which didn’t get replied to until well into the wee hours of the following morning with some unintelligible words and a winking face. Maker, Cullen really was alone.

With it being his first real day he spent his time just finding everything and meeting everyone on the professional side. Cassandra had plans for their group of contacts to meet off-site later in the week so he was resigned to the usual task of looking through apostate databases and cataloguing. Simple work. It also left him a lot of time to think as he shook hands and promised to remember names and faces that he inevitably wouldn’t. On some level he missed the familiarity of his past life, if only because this was obnoxiously new, and he really didn’t like the idea that when he clocked out at the end of the day he’d have nothing and no one to go home to.

Shit. He also needed to find a flat.    

\--

The College was everything Dorian had expected. Val Royeaux was everything he’d expected as well. Three days he’d been there and two of those three he’d nursed a hangover for how hard he’d hit some of the beautifully overdone taverns and lounges. Maker, but the wine was wonderful and the people were...Orlesian. They were about as close to Tevinter as he was going to get, anyway, and he enjoyed that much. It had been so long since he’d been steeped in the Game, and he’d missed it so. The College with its rich and decadent atmosphere only bred it more deeply into him, and he preened over Madame Vivienne’s praise of his research submission. He’d been celebrating already.

“I suspect your rooms are to your standard, Master Pavus?” she’d asked him, and he chuckled before dismissing such a title. Halward Pavus was far, far away after all. Dorian adored that he was meant to fawn all over the accoutrements, praise everything from the lovely wallpaper to the thick carpets, and oh how he had. For the first time in a long time he was living how he’d been accustomed to living again, and it was wonderful. He was probably more drunk off of the luxury of non student housing than wine, anyway.

Dorian enjoyed his research space as well. He was essentially free to work as he liked, when he liked, unless otherwise prompted by Vivienne. She was always at court, both as a politician and entertainer, which left Dorian with ample time. That said, apparently he was high on her list of assistants to bring now that she had one that was used to such things. The others, while capable, were mostly second children of other higher ranked court members who wished to see them doing more than drinking and whoring away their inheritance. Dorian felt right at home, actually.

He’d only just made it back to his rooms when his phone chirped in his pocket. Dorian expected Felix, who’d been texting him nonstop with questions about how things were, but no. Cullen. Cullen who always typed so properly and used far less emoticons than Felix did. They’d chatted back and forth a bit, but nothing beyond a little light flirting and discussion of getting settled. He smiled to himself as he checked the message:

_Long first day. Did you manage to find your way home last night?_

Of course. He’d mentioned he was going out with some of the others. Cullen would be the type to worry, too. Dorian made his way toward the bath and started the hot water. A long soak sounded like just what he needed, and perhaps a bit of alone time to flirt back and forth with Cullen might do him some good. Maker knew the man looked like he could use it. Even with the bar crawls over the last couple of nights, where he could have gone home with his choice of attractive Orlesian nobles’ sons, he hadn’t quite wanted to. Something about blond curls and amber eyes. It was probably stupid, but he was enjoying what he had for the moment.

_Only just. I had a meeting with a wicked hangover this morning. I think everyone could tell, too. Was it long enough to need a drink out?_

He set his phone beside the rather nice tub and peeled out of his clothes so he could get in. Not much had happened that he really required such pampering, but it had been so long since he was able that Dorian had promised himself to enjoy as much as he could. This was the first bathroom he hadn’t had to share with three other people in far too long, so he was going to relax to his heart’s content. The steam felt amazing, and he stretched out with one leg draped over the edge to drip onto the mat. It was as languorous a pose as he could manage, and Dorian ducked his head under the hot water for a long moment before slicking his hair back and leaning against the warm porcelain.

Steam wafted up toward the ceiling around him, relaxing his mind and aching head, and Dorian sighed. When he’d sent off that application to Madame Vivienne he’d been completely drunk and then horribly embarrassed at his antics. Of course he could feign the confidence, that was easy, but to be there now and settled into a tub in his own rooms made him feel like he’d come so far from that shitty student housing and drunken application letter. He truly belonged there, Dorian knew it better than he knew himself, and he was...just so glad, now.

The phone chirped beside him and Dorian picked it up. He could only imagine what Cullen would do if he snapped a picture and sent it to him. That lovely blush would probably fill his face, make him stammer and turn away so delightfully awkwardly, and Dorian would feel like such a bad man for it. Maker save him, but he did love making pretty boys blush. Felix used to hate going out with him for that exact reason, and often had to drag a (usually) drunk Dorian away from unsuspecting noble sons. Even now, Felix had already told him to go easy on the poor Orlesian population. He could do that, but he did feel so sorely tempted to play a little with the handsome ex-Templar. Or whatever he was, anyway.

_Tomorrow? Or maybe at the weekend if you won’t be too busy?_

Sweet thing. Dorian had half planned to be completely obliterated by Saturday evening, but something a bit more...civilized sounded more in order. Cullen was nice, and he looked like he hadn’t had someone look at him in a friendly way in far too long. All flirting aside, Dorian actually would have liked to know someone outside of his little college circle in the city. As much as he enjoyed talking for long hours about research and magic, which he really did, there was something charming about finding someone else and having a whole other side. He liked being able to switch his brain from one thing to the next and back again. Cullen could be the perfect person for that, provided that their little airport friendship hadn’t petered out.

_Saturday afternoon. 6pm. I’ll find us somewhere good._

\--

A week hadn’t felt so long since Cullen had planned the trip back to Kirkwall. Transferring was never a fun time, but this had been a completely different animal to the last time. Before, he’d had no desire to look back at the past and just wanted to be away. Now, that was kind of the same but there was a lot more holding him back to that old job and old life. When he sank into the lumpy bed of the motel and tried to force himself to sleep Cullen couldn’t help but think back. Had he ever actually been happy there? He’d been so angry and depressed for so long, and the therapy they’d sent him to had only sort of helped the problem. Eventually he’d convinced himself he was fine, and he was, but things never really went beyond ‘okay’ that he could remember. Sure, being with Samson had been a decent time at first and they’d done some good work before Meredith had really started to lose it. That had been good, but when he looked back in on himself there wasn’t...anything.

On Thursday he found a place to live. It hadn’t been a grand find or anything, but just a decent ad in the newspaper and the place was...actually nice. By Orlesian standards it was probably a shithole, but after what he’d lived in back in Kirkwall the place was like a dream. It was all wood floors and bright windows and clean walls. Cullen had a breakfast nook. A nook, Maker’s sake. He didn’t even have a table to put in it. The bedroom was up a little spiral staircase just wide enough for one and fourteen steps made of black iron and the same wood as the floor. When he’d sent Mia a picture she demanded Cullen let her come and help him decorate. He’d signed the papers and paid his deposit immediately, then set to paying off his last few days at the motel so he could just have his furniture delivered to the building.

The truck had shown up Friday afternoon, and by the evening Cullen had a place of his own that wasn’t some dumpy extended stay motel. It honestly felt too good for him. It didn’t feel _real_. None of it did. They were his boxes and his furniture mostly put away, but it didn’t feel at all like something real. It could have been a dream, one where he was alone and screaming for someone to hear him, but when he’d woken the following morning in his bed that smelled like him and decidedly not like a shitty motel he felt better. It could have been a dream, but better a familiar dream than an unfamiliar reality. That’s what he was telling himself anyway.

When four o’clock had come and gone Cullen’s phone buzzed. A message. He’d picked it up quickly, eagerly, and chuckled to himself when he saw that it was from Dorian. It was stupid to be excited, he knew that, and he knew that he shouldn’t let himself get too far into anything. Work was going to be delicate and completely consuming for the foreseeable future. Cullen had no time or space to try to balance anything else on top of that, but he couldn’t help himself. The memory of Dorian beside him, confident and all quiet strength, made him feel oddly unsettled. It was like he couldn’t keep himself still.

_I’m sending you an address. There. 6pm and be hungry. Well dressed too if your Fereldan sensibilities can handle it._

A winking smiley face followed that and Cullen couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. The man was brash and almost far too cocky, but it _worked_ for him. That barb maybe should have been offensive, but Cullen could imagine that smug affect and grin that would have come with it. A smiley face had nothing on that. He read the message over a couple more times before another came in with an address and the name of...well, it was Orlesian so Cullen had no real idea. A bar? A restaurant? Maker, was this a _date_?

_Flannel and workboots it is. I’ll give you the full Ferelden Formal Experience._

The teasing came easier than Cullen expected. It made his stomach clutch a little, and he took a breath. The last time he’d been any kind of flirtatious had been years ago. It should have been harder. He should have felt more reservations about falling back into that. He should have, but it felt really great to have more than just...ambiguous affection? Was that what he’d call what he and Samson had been for so long? Samson had been strung out on lyrium for a lot of their relationship, as had Cullen, and by the end of it when Cullen wanted to move on there just wasn’t anything left. It had burned away, left him sick and wanting all the time, and there had been no support from the man he’d loved so much.

It wasn’t that Samson was a bad person. Yes, Cullen had a bad habit of excusing his behavior way too much, but he wasn’t bad or evil or malicious. They’d had to go through a lot of shit with the Templars and some either burned out hot and fast or low and slow. Samson had done the former first, got thrown out of the Order, then the latter when he’d set to finding lyrium outside of the Chantry approved lines. Cullen had to be the bad guy so many times because everyone knew about them, and if he got even an ounce more than he was directed he’d have been marshalled off the same way. Samson had sworn at him, accused him of keeping the drugs from him, and then so distant. So, so distant. At least until he’d found his own supply. By then, Cullen was so far into the relationship he couldn’t go. He would have had nothing and no one and after everything else he couldn’t do it. So he’d stayed: stayed with a drug addict as a “sanctioned” drug addict, stayed in love with someone who probably was only nebulously aware of his presence unless they were actively fucking, stayed where he felt so bogged down that he’d kind of wanted to die.

So he left. He left and now he had a place of his own that was clean and fine and _his_ and he could flirt and feel happy about it. It was possible to start over. He could do this. Maker, he was so glad for it too.

\--

The restaurant was so Orlesian that it was almost tacky. It was dark and mysterious and filled with higher echelon nobility that were only partly interested in eating. Their evening revolved around watching each other and finding secrets. They watched how everyone behaved, who they were with, what they ordered and how much they ate. It was...so interesting. Thus far, Dorian had been privy to a few meetings with Vivienne and visiting patrons. He couldn’t get enough of it all. It felt so much like home that he could almost hear his mother hissing at him from across the room for the way he slouched and leaned into the Fereldan that was tucked so elegant in against his side.

They’d met up an hour ago outside, all shy smiles and awkward small talk, then went inside to the dark corners and trendy music. It gave them the space to relax, shyness turning to flirtation, and Dorian watched as Cullen shed a bit of that weight he seemed to carry. Drinks were ordered and they fell a bit more easily into place after that. It had been a busy week, one filled with slightly nervous excitement about this outing, and Dorian wasn’t disappointed. He’d expected Cullen to be awkward like he had been at the airport when they’d shared a meal before, but not now. He looked decidedly less like he wanted to die. Being out of Kirkwall would do that, though.

“So I have a real place to live now,” Cullen commented over his glass of dark ale. The man looked good nursing a drink, as Dorian had expected.

He smiled, “Does that mean there’s a housewarming to be had? I’m expecting once-frozen spinach puffs as canapes and slightly-better-than-the-cheapest red wine?” Dorian teased. He liked how Cullen laughed when he relaxed a little, when he coaxed a smile to those scarred lips, and it made him want to tease all the more.

A shake of the blond’s head, “No one to invite,” Cullen answered, “I don’t really know anyone at work yet.”

When the waitress came for their order, Dorian held up a hand and got them a list of things to nibble on as well as a bottle of something good to share. he still had some money kicking around, and definitely felt like splurging a little tonight. Nibbles and wine and good conversation were better reasons than anything to empty his pockets, and he would happily do so. They weren’t talking about magic or theory or anything and Dorian was thrilled.

“I can offer you a gaggle of noble born mages with a taste for expensive wine to spend the evening at your place, then,” he teased, “but maybe not. Maybe a container of Rivaini food and something fizzy and cheap on milk crates to celebrate instead?”

“Are you offering?”

Dorian smirked, “Are you accepting?”

The change in Cullen was almost ridiculous. This man meeting his flirtations one for one was so different to the one he’d met in Kirkwall. Truly, perhaps them both starting over meant good things. Maybe Cullen was leaving behind whatever it was that held him down so hard. Maybe Dorian was finally letting himself do something for himself. They were _out_ , Maker’s sake. He wasn’t hiding in someone’s rooms and praying no one would come looking. He could laugh and wink and flirt and no one Maker damned _cared_. It was so freeing. Not that he intended on mauling the Fereldan out in public, not by a long shot, but he did like the freedom. Freedom was important. Maybe, somewhere deep in the poetic recesses of them both, that was what they needed. Dorian could always wax poetic about as much when he was surrounded by heady perfume and great food and better drink. The ambiance was almost as good as the company.

“I’ve got a lot going on this week,” Cullen began, though he looked up from his glass with a look that was so far from the ones he’d given Dorian when they first met that it was ridiculous. Those amber eyes were like pools of honey warmed by the flame. The look was making Dorian squirm, unable to keep still, and he found himself smiling back as that uncouth Fereldan accent worked its way into his ears like a whisper of sex on silk sheets the likes of which no dog lord would have ever known. “Maybe when I know what’s going on with what and you have some kind of schedule...we could?” Cullen went on, “I might even have all the boxes unpacked by then.”

Dorian smoothed his mustache down with nimble fingers and he smirked, “Look at you, so put together. Anyone might think you were actually happy about being here.”

There was a moment of unsurety. Dorian saw it in the way Cullen’s teeth worried his lip for an instant before the man took a breath and smiled. Maybe he wasn’t so practiced with the confidence like Dorian was. That would make sense. Still, he could see Cullen moving through the steps until he got that sultry look back. What journey to go on for those precious seconds. “It’s not so bad, I guess,” Cullen replied, “now that we’re actually here and not stuck, right?”   


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen finds a present, thinks of the past, and is confronted with an unpleasant future.

He’d found it nestled in the drawer of the bedside table he’d taken. An envelope: small and innocuous. Maybe he’d just forgotten to throw it away when he cleaned his things out, or it had stuck to the bottom from maybe some spilled hand cream or whatever. Maybe he’d ignored it when he cleaned everything else out so he could find it later, though that was unlikely. Cullen had thrown out everything not nailed down that wouldn’t help him move on, so to find something like that in his things...it wasn’t an accident.

Small. Inside it was lined in bubble wrap to keep the very precious cargo safe through the journey from Kirkwall to Val Royeaux. Cullen’s name was written on the front in shaky scratch, Samson’s hand, and he held it in his hands as he sat on the edge of the bed. It had only been a couple weeks since he’d seen the man, but just seeing his own name written in that familiar script like they used to write grocery lists or quick notes that they’d be back later or whatever it was...it made Cullen’s breath catch. Clearly Samson had put it in the drawer before he’d left the last time- a treat for him to find after Maker only knew how long. That, or the man had been banking on Cullen finding it soon.

With a quick inhale, Cullen opened the envelope. It felt puffy and full, the bubbles rubbing against the contents before it was tipped into his palm. Amber eyes widened when he felt the two vials’ weight in his hand. He knew them by feel, even before his gaze took in what they were. Small. Glass. Stoppered. Blue. So _blue_. Cullen began to sweat. How had Samson gotten this? Why? Why would he send them along? What was his angle? Was it a mistake? It had to be. Until...note. A note inside as well.

_Don’t say I never gave you anything. - S_

“Fuck,” Cullen swore gently and wrapped his fingers around the glass in his hand. They creaked as they pressed together and for a moment he considered just crushing them. Immediately, that sent a fear response through him and all the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end. _No, no, no. Maker, no, don’t waste it._ His mind was desperate for a moment and he glared from the note in one hand to his clasped other one. Of course the bastard would do something like that. It was a subtle thing, a small barb that would make Cullen’s head spin, and it annoyed him that Samson knew him _so fucking well._

He needed to sleep. He needed to sleep and ignore this. Maybe he could convince himself that he’d never found it or that he wasn’t getting to his feet to get his kit out of the dresser. It was second nature, even in this flat that he’d not been in for a month yet, and he couldn’t stop himself. Those long weeks at the little motel should have been enough while he lay in that terrible bed and felt like he was dying. That was the time he needed to forget. He’d met Cassandra through the worst of it and she’d still offered him the job. He should have left all that there, before he’d signed the paperwork, but he couldn’t help it. Not now.

How long had it been? Too long. Cullen could remember lowering his dosage out of solidarity, partially to help with the side effects but also to keep Samson happy. The man had spat acid at him that he wouldn’t share, wouldn’t give him his prescription, wouldn’t do it because he didn’t love him enough. That had been the withdrawal talking. Samson always apologized, but Cullen had tried so hard. He only ever took at work for that same reason, kept the blue locked away in his desk, but it wasn’t enough. He’d been so strung out, so tired and sick, and the world just...kept on while he lived in a fog. It lasted far too long.

_“Do you need a requisition form for lyrium?”_

_“I...stopped taking it.”_

_“Stopped? Are you...is that something you really want to do?”_

_“I’m not giving any more of myself to the Order. Not like it is now. I won’t be some dog on a leash until I’m too burnt out for a pension.”_

He’d been indignant. Righteous. Cullen had also been angry, hurt, abused, and disenchanted by the job he’d wanted for as long as he could remember. All he’d ever heard was how much good the Templar Order did. They helped people, kept the same, protected mages from themselves and the worst things imaginable. He’d so wanted to be that man. He wanted to be one that could go home to his family at Midwinter and talk about how he’d made a difference. Now he could only keep in contact by email and text because going back as some hollowed out shell with no purpose terrified him beyond all reason. Mia and the others, his siblings and their families, couldn’t know what he’d become.

When he’d walked out of the Kirkwall office he’d vowed to never touch another vial of lyrium for as long as he lived. He could pretend, let Casandra pass off the requisition so things looked normal, but he refused to have it. There were others who needed it more, those that had been cast out and addicted with no legitimate ways to get it, and he couldn’t stand to even look at it now. Even now, as the glass warmed from his body heat, he hated himself for how he gathered his kit and settled on the bed like he used to do. It was so easy. So easy, and encouraged. He could take it and finally not feel sick all the time. Why had he tried to fight it? It was _natural_ for a Templar to take it, after all.

The feeling of the mattress under him and the vials in his hand reminded him of too many nights. Sometimes he and Samson would burn a dose, before Samson had been discharged, and just fuck until morning. They didn’t need to sleep. They had all the mana they needed to just go until neither of them could come anymore and they resorted to just making each other as insane as possible. Cullen could remember the feeling of his body feeling like a burn from frost and shaking while Samson touched him. It had been so intimate, so sensitive, and he shuddered for the mental images it gave him. Those were the nights he felt so alive. They’d fuck for hours, high and burning cold, and then quickly dress to duck out for breakfast before the crowds came. Samson held his hand, nuzzled his face into Cullen’s neck, and they’d been so happy. Cullen felt like he’d been a part of something, and what he wouldn’t give for another moment like that.

He’d flicked one of the stoppers off before he realized, lost in his memories as he had been, and the smell alone made goosebumps pop up along his skin. Cullen shivered, nostrils flaring, and he reached into his kit to pull out the syringe. His hands were moving on autopilot, all feeling and no thought, and as he filled the barrel with the slightly glowing and humming blue he shivered in anticipation. Oh, this was going to be so good. Cullen’s blood called out for this, his body had been reaching deep for that power for what felt like a lifetime, and he just wanted to give in.

Amber eyes stared at the syringe for a long moment, and he moved his gaze to his left elbow. It had been pockmarked for years, red and raw and angry, and in the last few months had only really started to heal. The skin was still pink and tender, sore, and the thought of pushing even the thin and nearly painless needle into where he knew the vein was easy to find made him shudder. Was this all it took? One note from Samson and the memory of years ago when things were as good as they were every going to be? Not even ‘good’ objectively, just...not worse. A few minutes thinking about that was going to undo two months of trying to put himself back on a path that wasn’t going to end with him scrounging in some slum? No. No it wasn’t.

Cullen took a breath and put both vials and the full syringe back into his kit before he shoved it in his dresser drawer and slammed it shut. Now he was just...mad. Angry. He needed to not be in the house. A quick look to the clock showed that it wasn’t even six in the afternoon. Thick and syrupy sunlight hung heavily in the air outside, casting everything in a deep orange glaze, and Cullen decided immediately that he needed to walk. He needed to walk and he needed to talk to someone that wasn’t from then. He needed his new life to not be the old one.

\--

“I need to speak with you in my office,” Cassandra prompted from where she stood in his doorway. She looked...concerned. That was a surprise. For a moment his heart started pounding like he’d done something wrong. Had he? Was there something stupid he’d said that jeopardized him being there? Maker…

Cullen got to his feet and followed after the Seeker. In the office, Templars moved about in between rotations. Half went out to do rounds while the other half stayed in to alleviate paperwork. Any and all mages were interviewed regularly, asked for updates on their magical ability and status in either the College or Circles, and given caseworkers to ensure that nothing bad happened. Kirkwall had rocked the South’s ideas as to what could happen if things were taken too far, and the resulting rebellion had cost a lot of lives and lot of trust. As it was, Cullen could already count infractions by those he passed. He wasn’t the model Templar, not at all, but he knew enough. He’d been Meredith’s second-in-command, after all. No one was going to second guess him, even in Val Royeaux.

When they got to Cassandra’s office she shut the door behind them and pulled the blinds down over the window that looked out into the main room. That was...more concerning. The Lady Seeker’s office was sparsely decorated, though her awards and titles were prominently displayed on the walls and the desk. That was probably a challenge to whoever might want to pretend she wasn’t the most capable person for the job. Cassandra saw a lot of visiting members of the Order and the Chantry, and should any of them have any issue there were plenty of reasons why she’d been hired framed not ten feet to the left.

Cullen blinked as he took a seat and rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. “Should I be concerned?” he asked as he watched her take her seat behind the desk, “this isn’t you firing me, is it?”

“Not at all,” Cassandra answered with a wave of her hand before she took a breath, “It just so happens that I’m to have a meeting with of the Chantry’s Diplomatic Advisors today. Somehow you’ll also manage to be in this office when she arrives, discussing how your transfer is going, and we’ll all have a bit of an on-record chat about how nice it is for you to meet her. Then you’re going to go back to your office while she and I discuss the matters of the Order, and we’ll all go about our day.”

That was all very convoluted for how Cassandra usually worked. Cullen cocked an eyebrow as he looked at her and sat a bit forward in his chair, “And...why am I supposed to be meeting her?”

The Seeker was quiet for a moment, “I suspect she wants to size you up,” and smiled a bit like a knife, “that’s how she is.”

“Right.”

“How is the transfer treating you?” Cassandra asked, “you’ve been officially part of the office for two and a half weeks, now. Has there been any problems?”

A flash and he was back on his bed with his philter and the syringe of blue in hand. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and Cullen could feel a bead of sweat running down his spine. Since that afternoon the withdrawal symptoms had been worse. Maybe it was the knowledge that his relief was right there that made him feel it like he hadn’t since the first week. The sweating and feeling sick had been pretty constant, as had the headaches, but Maker it was difficult to ignore now. If Cassandra had noticed, and this was the reason for this little chat, he wouldn’t be surprised.

“No more than usual,” Cullen answered, “get lost finding the toilet, that kind of thing. Everyone’s been...accommodating.” The looks, the whispering, the nudges of elbows whenever he came in the room was to be expected. He’d _been_ at Kirkwall. He’d been _in charge_ in Kirkwall. Now he was there and looking a hell of a lot like a shell of a man.

Cassandra nodded, “Good to hear,” she answered as her walnut-hazel eyes studied his face and how he sat up a little straighter in the chair. Cullen was trying to look bigger and more capable, like he wasn’t suffering, and he might have managed to hide it his face didn’t wear the pain so readily. “And...the lyrium?” she prompted gently. It wasn’t a taboo topic, not really, but not one Cullen wanted to discuss. It was her right as his boss, though. If he was handling it badly then Cassandra needed to know.

He took a breath, “I, uh...found some. Leftover from Kirkwall. I must have tucked it in one of my drawers or something and I found it when I was unpacking,” Cullen answered, and lifted a slightly shaking hand to wipe at his forehead. His mouth suddenly felt dry. Well, no, his mouth felt dry a lot but it was incredibly pointed now.

“You didn’t take it?”

“No. Ma’am, I didn’t,” he shook his head, “I thought about it, though.”

There was a long pause and Cullen lifted his gaze to meet the Seeker’s. Her expression was unreadable: one of sharp lines and cheekbones, but after a moment the smallest smile touched Cassandra Pentaghast’s face. “When you think you need it, you come talk to me,” she told him, and her tone was kind but still completely in control. There wasn’t room for coddling here, but Cullen did appreciate the support. He probably wouldn’t use it, since he needed to do this on his own, but the offer being there was more than he’d had in years.

Just then, three sharp knocks came to the door and it was opened by a woman that Cullen only vaguely recognized. Sister Leliana. She was one of the Divine’s Hands and political dignitary for Her Perfection. _This_ was the dignitary he was meeting “arbitrarily” today? One of the most influential women in Southern Thedas? He’d heard stories that she had spies everywhere, not that one would think it to look at her. She was pretty, though her eyes had the same hard edge that Cassandra’s did. Cullen recognized that look. Perhaps if all three of them stood shoulder to shoulder they’d all have the same eyes.

“Forgive me, Seeker Pentaghast, I didn’t know you were in a meeting,” Leliana apologized, and held out a hand to Cullen as he got up and to his feet. She was smiling in a way that betrayed...nothing. The hard edge to her eyes were the only thing he could recognize, the rest of her was so completely guarded, and as cullen shook her hand he noted it was neither strong nor weak. It was...like a ghost, almost. “Commander Cullen, yes?” she asked, “from Kirkwall? I’ve heard about you.”

“Have you?” he asked, and cast a look to Cassandra, who merely shrugged.

Leliana smiled again, and plucked a file from the binder she held under her arm. The white blazer she wore as was professional and stylish as it got, a complete foil to Cassandra’s deep plum blouse that was obviously more functional that style, and the movement she made to hand Cullen the thin file was elegant and extremely measured. He’d seen dancers move in the same way. The file wasn’t labeled, but obviously had a few things in it. Why, exactly, a dignitary of the Office of the Divine was giving him something like this was beyond him. A cog in the machine of the Order never saw anything from the Divine proper unless it was something important.

Again, Leliana smiled that secretive, non-descript smile, “Have a look at that when you get a chance, Commander,” she instructed, “it was nice to meet you.”

What...was this? Cullen blinked at the blatant dismissal, looked to Cassandra again, and licked his lips. Now his head really hurt. Whatever this secretive business was, regardless of his reasoning for transferring, Cullen wasn’t really cut out for it. He liked direct. He could play, sure, but he was always one or two steps behind until he realized the Game. Right now was one of those moments. “I’ll let you two work,” he offered as he bowed just a little to them both and headed for the door with the file in his hands. Both women seemed happy to let him go.

A quick trip to the kitchen afforded Cullen a mug of coffee with some questionably-in-date milk. He needed something to put a choke-hold on the headache that was threatening behind his left eye. It would start there and move up and around to the back of his head if he wasn’t careful. Weird day. Weird day on the back of a few bad ones. Maker, was it the weekend yet?

_Dorian._

The man’s smile was on his mind a lot. Something about him, the way he practically glowed with self confidence in a way Cullen never had, made him want to just spend as much time basking in his light as he could. When they spent time together, which was admittedly little as they settled, Cullen felt better. He felt like he had something else in his life that wasn’t some holdover from Kirkwall. Dorian was the fresh breeze through a window that had been long since closed and then finally thrown open. Just thinking about that evening in the little bistro made him smile.

Cullen sat back down at his desk, coffee and file in front of him, but he sighed. He needed to take a step back for a minute. Since he’d started in with the Order he’d been accused of doing too much, working too hard, and now that he wasn’t on the blue like he had been he recognized just what people meant. It was easy to do too much when you were too hopped up to notice or care. Now, he had to pointedly make himself step back.

_Is there any job in this town where some noble or some dignitary doesn’t show up every now and then? Because I think I might need that job._

He sent the message quickly, ended it with one of the smilies Dorian was so fond of, and tucked his phone away. Just that bit of a line to another world help to pull his head away from the aching. That, and a sip from the coffee. Honestly, whether or not that milk was off was still a mystery to him. Since getting off the blue his senses had felt both dulled and completely renewed. It was weird. A lot of things tasted sour now. He made a face, set the mug down, and rested his chin on one hand as he regarded the file.

From a Dignitary of the Office of the Divine. The folder was embossed with a slightly raised seal of the office, the parent to the Order, and the leader of the people. Cullen had never in his life, outside of the small one stamped with much the same when he’d said his vows, held anything like this. Idly, he wondered if inside was just some perfunctory welcome package. How ironic would that be? All that dressed up in the fancy stationary for some pre-printed welcome message and signed via inkstamp in lieu of the Divine having to sign anything.

With another breath he reached down to open the file, but was distracted by his phone buzzing. Dorian. A distraction. A welcome distraction. He checked the message, but instead of a text it was a picture of that usually smiling face frowning almost comically with his head resting on what looked like an ancient tome with papers and pens and highlighters scattered on the table. It was captioned simply: _take me with you_. It made him chuckle, and Cullen saved it for later. For now, it wouldn’t do to have someone walk in and see him on the phone when others got busted and written up for less.

Now. Work. Cullen flipped open the file. On the front was a small sticky note, pink and shaped like a high heel, with the words ‘Herald’s Rest 7:45pm, Tomm.’ written on it in a very neat script. Leliana’s? More than likely. He peeled it away and re-stuck the note to the inside of his wallet. Best to keep from forgetting. Under the note, however, was a list of incidents. A police report. a police report that wasn’t Val Royeaux because Cullen knew that city seal.

Kirkwall.

Incidents from Kirkwall. Incidents that included, he noted as he read, search and seizures. Drugs. The usual. Well, the usual until he got to the second page. Lyrium: un-approved and non-requisitioned. Tons of it. Blue everywhere. Blue and something he didn’t recognize. Red. Red lyrium. Non-Chantry approved lyrium. According to the report it was believed to be the new hit drug for the rich set, except that it was in the Gallows and fetching both top dollar and low end from shifty dealers. That was a new one. With the Rebellion, no one had really noticed it. Now, though, it seemed like it was gaining traction somehow.

Hospital reports. Cullen frowned. These were hospital reports of...Maker, was that _Meredith_? No. He’d known she was on something, that was easy to see, but this? Others, people Cullen didn’t know were involved. This was insanity. Of course there was some lyrium dealing in the Order for those who needed more than the usual dose or for those that had been thrown out and some of the more scummy members saw a good monetary opportunity, but this red stuff looked dangerous. According to the records included, what few there were, it had... _crystallized_ some of the heavier users. The blue never did that, even at its worst, so whatever this was had to be some serious stuff.

Another page. More police reports. Cullen half scanned until he turned the page and there, almost three-quarters of the way down he saw it. A name and an address circled in red felt tip. Cullen’s heart sank. Maker, was he hallucinating? Did he need to go home and sleep this off? Perhaps the headache...no. Maker, no.

Person of Interest: Raleigh Samson - warrant approved for arrest


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian struggles with his place as Vivienne's research assistant, then meets with Cullen after a mutually long day at work.

The library should have been a safe place. They always had been. It was grand and comfortable, well lit and stocked with some of the best research in any of Thedas, but something about it felt unsettling. Dorian could sit, coffee in hand, and nestle in somewhere to spend the afternoon if he wanted to. Sometimes he wanted to, though he hadn’t been there long yet. It was hard, if only because every time he sat down with his notes and his laptop a weight of anxiety would settle itself in his chest. He’d open his research notes, be completely ready to do something useful, and just...stare. Stare and fumble through trying to find anything that felt like it fit.

Oh, he had interesting research. Lady Vivienne was over the moon with his research he’d done while studying under Alexius. They talked about it at length, talked about how to get it to move forward with his own ideas adding to it, and his new mentor seemed truly excited to have him along with it. Dorian was pleased. It was the first time in a long time that it had been his merit as opposed to his name that had made someone so interested in the work he did.

It wasn’t _his_ though. Not really. His own work wouldn’t rely on someone else’s plans. So now, to sit there and poke around at something that was feeling less and less like his own creation was eating at him. Dorian skipped the library in favor of his own rooms, stopping only to pick up requested volumes, and would spend long hours at the fancy desk or stretched out across the bed. It was isolating. When he met Vivienne and his cohort for tea or meals to discuss their projects and upcoming collaborations for testing there was little to discuss with the others. They tried, bless them, but as Dorian listened to them talk about their excitement for their research he found himself sinking into a darker place.

It was late and Dorian was sitting at the desk with his feet propped up in front of him with his laptop in his lap. The fingers of his left hand stroked at his mustache, a nervous tic he’d adopted since growing it, as he stared down at the screen but saw nothing of what was written there. He’d been forcing himself to work, but he was miles away. Instead of the screen he saw what felt like an endlessly long dining room table with three place settings. Home. No. The Pavus House. Evening meal.

_And just what do you hope to accomplish with all this?_

Such a simple question. Halward always did get right to the point. It had been directed at his studies, his choices, his _life_. Not long ago he might have said that he wanted to make a difference, to help change the world for the better, but  the longer he spent looking in on himself he wondered if that was really true. Yes, Dorian wanted to do good things. He wanted to be better than the others, but he wanted...he wanted a name for _himself_. One that had nothing to do with Pavus or Thalrassian. Good was for the heroes, he’d come to the conclusion, but he just wanted something else. _Anything_ else that was his own.

He sat up and reached out for the bottle of wine he’d picked up before. While he’d been ‘working’ Dorian had been making his way through it. Now he was feeling that buzz that was just over the line from pleasant. He didn’t want to think anymore. Another drink would help him sleep. Hell, maybe it would help him think. He’d spent a good portion of the last few years completely obliterated and had produced amazing work. So what happened? Why was it now that he was having issue? Why was it now that he’d _finally_ made it on his own and he couldn’t get past this mental barrier?

It made him feel agitated. Annoyed. Dorian refused to believe that Halward had been right, that he wouldn’t be able to make it on his own, and that he was only setting himself up for destruction. he was trying to recapture that excitement he’d had when they’d touched down here, but the more he tried to reach for it all he could feel was something like anxiety that he’d never felt before. Panic? No. Surely it wasn’t a matter of intellect. Dorian knew he was easily on the same page or better than any of the cohort when it came to magic. No, that wasn’t it.

Whatever it was, this crushing feeling of not being able to get past his own mind, made him want to drink himself into a stupor. Feeling less than confident wasn’t in dorian’s repertoire of emotions, and he really didn’t like it. Maker, he’d taken part on lower House debates in the Magisterium. How could he not feel confident? And yet...here he was. He was drinking moderately expensive wine from a crystal glass while he tried to get over this hump. Some might consider that successful, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

_They won’t accept you, you know. Not as you are. Why do you have to be this way?_

He had to do it for himself. Whatever he was, however he was, no one else was going to take credit for his accomplishments. No more. His name was his own. His actions were his own. Dorian threw back what was left in the glass with a wince and poured himself another so he could have a few deep drinks. The wine was sweet enough to make the back of his throat itch a little, which at least took his mind off of everything else.

A glance to the clock. Another hour he would try. Dorian had to get _something_ done enough to show Vivienne in the morning. He could do this. He had to. Then he could sleep. Oh, how it would be a delicious sleep. Maybe he’d dream of something pretty to share his bed that might help distract him further. At this point, it was all he had to look forward to.

\--

For all the freedom that he had, Madame Vivienne ran a rather tight ship. She kept a close eye on her assistants, talked to them regularly, and did what she could to support them. Dorian appreciated that. He appreciated that she had rules, but gave her people enough space to work. No Circle he’d ever been a part of had been that way. She’d set the cohort a task, healing alchemy, and had given Dorian a bit of a separate assignment with the time magic to align it. Odd. Vivienne didn’t have the healer’s affect. She didn’t seem like one who might...well, healing magic always did seem to go down well with the people. Things focused other places, like spirits and the Fade, were often thought of as selfish. That said, Dorian didn’t quite agree with the idea of magical research to help the masses. His gifts were academic and not so much practical.

“How have you been getting on, my dear?” Vivienne asked him from where they were sharing lunch in her Salon. Dorian was mostly clear of his hangover, thankfully, and she seemed to enjoy as much. He talked more when he wasn’t feeling sick, and they did have a good rapport even now.

Dorian took a breath, “steadily,” he answered, and reached down to his bag to pull out the file of what something small he’d been working on the night before. It had come late, on the heel of another glass of wine, but he’d finally found his stride. “When you can get some of the samples ready I’d like to do some work with them,” his voice was sure and steady. He sounded confident, which was a nice change of pace lately. Mostly. “I’ve heard some gossip there’s been an issue with some of the ingredients?” Dorian asked, “is there anything we can do to help?”

Vivienne smiled for that, “Remind me to get onto Luc about discussing my business, hm?” she chuckled as she took a sip from her tea, “I have someone looking into things for me, but when I have samples you’ll be one of the first to get one.” There was a warmth in her words that most might have missed. Dorian was adept at seeing below the surface of ice, courtesy of Aquinea, and while at first it had been a little off-putting to be in a room with someone so like his mother...he found he really enjoyed Vivienne. She had much knowledge to give, both in magic and in politics. A year working with her would do wonders for Dorian should he want to explore working in the Magisterium later in life. All this...it was a chance too good to pass up.

“Appreciated.”

“I’d like a proposal write-up for what you’ve given me here,” she mused as she flicked through the folder Dorian had handed her, “and I think you should work with Aurelie on the alchemical formula. It should help with your confidence a little.”

One of his eyebrows raised, “Confidence?” Dorian repeated, “I assure you, Ma’am, confidence isn’t a problem.” A lie, but he wasn’t about to admit as much.

“Nonsense, my dear, I can read it in your work,” Vivienna answered easily, “it’s to be expected. I think the phrase is Imposter Syndrome, or something like it.”

“I’m hardly an imposter,” Dorian chuckled, though his voice shook just a little. Maker, did she not have faith in him now? Surely not. He’d been the picture of perfect assistant.

Vivienne smiled and handed back the folder, “And I’m well aware, but lying to me about it isn’t going to make it better.”

One of the secretaries knocked and poked her head in then, “Madame?” she prompted with a quick bow, “your next appointment is here. Master Lavellan?”

Instantly, Vivienne’s demeanor changed and she sat upright, “Of course,” she answered and looked up at Dorian, “thank you, my dear. I’ll speak with you once you’ve finished that proposal and worked a bit with Aurelie.”

Dorian blinked. It was rare for Vivienne to take appointments during the day like that. Usually her hours were spent dealing with College business. He started to gather his things, attention to the table and the spread of food they’d hardly gotten through, and when he turned back to the door there was a...an elf? An elf in dress too casual for him to be a student, and he was there looking like he belonged. Curious. Then again, Dorian was still adjusting to College life. Perhaps he was...someone else? Red hair poked up at odd angles, which only served to partially hide the tattoos that were inked onto his face. Dalish? Dorian hadn’t seen a Dalish elf at the College since he’d moved there.

He caught the gaze of golden eyes, and instantly Dorian’s thoughts were elsewhere. A smile to the newcomer and a bob of a bow to Vivienne, and Dorian was headed down the hall with his hand digging into his pocket for his phone. It had been a few days since he’d talked to Cullen. They’d both been busy. Dorian unlocked his phone to send a text, but he caught sight of the time and frowned. Cullen had a real job. A text this early probably wouldn’t be appreciated. He could wait a while.

That would give him a reason to work on this proposal while he still felt...well, mostly okay with things. That whole Imposter situation left a bad taste in his mouth, but it did push him to want to work. He would show Vivienne his confidence. He was confident! If anyone were to ask Felix or Gereon or anyone else they’d say he was the most confident creature in all of Thedas. To be thought of as otherwise? No, that would have to change.

\--

The day felt long after that. Dorian had worked with a fire he hadn’t had in a while, but as the sun started to set he pushed away from it with a headache. He was tired and agitated. Theory was starting to cloud his head, muddying his mind, and when he finally closed the book that he’d snapped a picture of himself with to send to Cullen what felt like ages ago the need to just...do something else. Anything else that meant he didn’t need to be alone in his own head. Wine would have been good, but feeling sick in the morning didn’t really appeal.

_What’s your address?_

He’d sent the message after he’d left his rooms. Dorian had cleaned himself up, almost jittery to get out into the night air, and headed for the road to hail a cab. It wasn’t terribly late, though past decent dinner hour, but he didn’t much care. The day had been long and awful, and Cullen _had_ sent the first message before. Clearly he didn’t mind. Besides, they’d already promised to make time to see each other and Dorian hadn’t seen this new flat of his yet.

The reply came quickly, and as Dorian slid into the warm back seat of a taxi he read off the address and let himself lean back against the cheap leather seat. Perhaps he should have gotten them something to eat. It would be unkind to show up with nothing, but...ah well. Food wasn’t his priority. Company was. Dorian wanted company that had nothing to do with research or magic or any of it, and he closed his eyes as he lost himself in the gentle movement of the car. His mind felt too tightly wound, like a spring ready to pop, and he pressed his fingers against the back of his neck to quell it. Some time. All he needed was some time.

The ride took longer than Dorian expected at this hour, but he was pleased to see that the building wasn’t in some seedy part of the city. It was a townhouse, small and clean looking. Lights were on behind shades that Dorian noted were drawn only mostly closed so a line of sight to the road was viable. Clearly Cullen picked a few things up from Kirkwall. He adjusted his collar, shook out the wrinkles from his slacks, and went up to knock. Maybe he should have felt more nervous, but he really didn’t. He was just glad to be out and where there was the possibility of quiet.

Cullen answered the door dressed in what looked like the most casual clothes Dorian had ever seen. Jeans that could have fit better sat low on his hips, and a well-worn jumper at least managed to show off some of that strength Dorian knew those arms and that chest had. It wasn’t the best look, but the man was just around home. If this had been a planned date he might have been more offended.

“I didn’t bring food,” he stated, “but I figure I can shout for some Rivaini takeaway.” Dorian smiled then, “can I come in?”

There was a soft shuckle and the slightly larger man moved aside. It was a nice gesture, and as Dorian moved past Cullen he reached out a hand to rest on his hip for a moment. “Busy day?” Cullen asked as he watched Dorian shed his shoes at the door and turn around to inspect the foyer. There wasn’t much to it.

“I had a meeting with Madame de Fer,” Dorian answered as he set to inspecting Cullen’s living room. Maker, there was nothing _there_. He hadn’t seen a place so austere since...well, nothing like he’d ever seen. Unless the Fereldan was a minimalist and cared not at all for anything that looked remotely personal anywhere in the flat. “Then I spent the rest of the day smacking my head against a few walls of text,” he went on before he whirled around to look at Cullen, “then I wanted out. So here I am. Now tell me how you’ve managed to stay here even this long with this place looking straight out of Frat Boy monthly? Next thing I know there’ll be cinderblocks holding up your coffee table.”

Cullen didn’t say anything for a moment before a short laugh escaped him, and one hand lifted to run through those blond curls. He looked tired, Dorian noted, and like he hadn’t seen a bed in a long time. “Not quite that bad,” he answered, “I just finished unpacking the other day. Here I thought I might get some warning before the housewarming party.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” he chuckled and leaned against the couch, “ah well. A few pictures on the walls and this place will look a lot less like a prison cell.”

There was another pause, though this one was slightly more awkward. “I, uh...I didn’t plan on anyone being here,” Cullen began, “and I only got home a while ago. Was there something about takeaway in all that before you started shit talking my house?” There was a ghost of a smile across scarred lips. That was a good look, ill-fitting jeans and all.

He nodded, “Call it in and I’ll pay,” Dorian promised.

Cullen shook his head, “You paid last time,” he pointed out, “just uh...get comfortable, huh? You can move any of my stuff if you need to.”

Ah, this man was a treasure. Dorian wasn’t going to argue with being taken care of, after all. He dropped himself on the couch, which was a rather ugly thing, and carefully stacked the files and papers that were spread out across the cushions. He didn’t want to be too nosy, but a cursory glance looked like police reports. No. Templar reports. Cullen had said ‘ex-Templar’ when they met, but a bit more poking and prodding had proven that it wasn’t so cut and dry. Regardless, Dorian didn’t feel as though he was breaking any rules. he wasn’t in a Circle, and he had his very own Templar caseworker through the College. This was fine.

Before too long Cullen joined Dorian on the couch, though he sat a bit closer to the other side. He still looked tired, like he’d been working longer than he’d said, and Dorian felt for him. The constant need to be doing something productive was a terrible gene to have. They sat silently for a long moment before Dorian licked at his lips and moved a bit so he was stretched out across the couch with his feet in Cullen’s lap. He couldn’t abide awkward, not really, and the look on Cullen’s face was worth it.

“Taking the job home, then?” he asked as he rested his cheek against the back of the couch, “dangerous practice.”

“Is it?” Cullen asked. He seemed to relax a little and rested his hands on Dorian’s calves. It only took a moment for both his thumbs to start rubbing circles into the material of the mage’s slacks. Those hands were big and warm, strong, and Dorian smiled for the attention.

“Technically we’re all supposed to have a place where we don’t think about work or the outside world,” Dorian pointed out, “a sanctuary, maybe. Home is supposed to be that. Taking your job home is unhealthy according to all those ambiguous experts in magazines.”

Cullen chuckled a little, “must be nice to get paid enough to not have to.”

“Hacks, the lot of them,” Dorian agreed with a nod. He noted how the gentle rubbing of those thumbs changed to Cullen running his hands along Dorian’s legs. Maker, he was being tested. It had been a long day and there was this man looking quite cozy and touching him like that.

“I’m still getting my feet under me at work, and I feel like taking it home is the only way I’m going to catch up,” Cullen mused, “things are...I don’t know. Different to what I thought.” A dark expression crossed that handsome face and Dorian cocked an eyebrow.

“You okay?”

Amber eyes lifted from where they were focused on Dorian’s striped socks, and for a long moment they just studied each other. There was that fatigue of spirit that Cullen seemed to have at the airport. Dorian couldn’t imagine what being a Templar was like, but if it was what made Cullen look like his soul itself was exhausted he was glad for not ever knowing. Still, something in him stirred and he reached out a hand to meet one of Cullen’s that was sitting on his knee. Their fingers met, laced together, and stayed where they fell.

“Things are going to get busy,” Cullen said, “soon. And I might not be able to…” He gestured between them with his free hand, “not as much. I’m not too happy about it.”

Ah. Well, there went that. Dorian’s smile fell just a little. He’d liked Cullen. He liked the few times they’d spent time together, when they talked or texted, and it was a shame. “I...that’s alright,” Dorian answered, “they can’t keep you all the time, right?”

Blond curls fell across Cullen’s forehead as he shook his head, “No, they can’t,” he agreed, “but it’s not alright.”

Not alright? Dorian wasn’t expecting that. He wasn’t quite sure what Cullen even meant by that. It must have showed, too, because after a moment Cullen was pulling on his hand dragging Dorian to practically be curled in his lap. It was a motion he hadn’t expected at all, though he didn’t even know _what_ to expect. Certainly not that from Cullen who looked like he was one step away from either falling asleep or a nervous breakdown half the time. He was about to open his mouth to ask what was going on, but it seemed that Cullen had other ideas.

Certainly he’d thought about this. He’d always expected Cullen to be the paragon of virtue, the chaste and modest Chantry boy, and they’d share a kiss after a second date. Maybe they’d go home together, sure, but Dorian had fully convinced himself it would be at _his_ prompting. This? The way Cullen’s lips pressed insistently against his own was a surprise. He was sure and confident, if the touch of the tip of his tongue against Dorian’s lips were anything to by, and Dorian sank into it. Despite the similar fatigued look, this was the opposite of the man he’d met at the airport.

They kissed for a long few moments. Both of Cullen’s hands ran up and down Dorian’s back while one of Dorian’s baubled fingers tangled in that blond hair. It wasn’t the completely unbridled and rough kind of kiss that romance novels wrote about, but it was heady and deep. Dorian came away from it almost dizzy. Cullen mouthed at his lips, ghosts of kisses that Dorian caught every so often, as they wound around each other. There was something different about Cullen. He tasted like something cool and refreshing that made all that cluttered feeling in his head fall far away.

Cullen had him on his back, them both practically grinding against each other, with their mouths joined and tongues exploring and tasting. The surprise managed to leave him, and Dorian let himself relax into it. He hadn’t been laid in what felt like a lifetime, and he groaned when a knock came to the door what could have only been seconds later.

“Dinner,” Cullen breathed against his lips. The Templar hand one hand in Dorian’s hair and the other playing up under his shirt against his hip. It was a maddening feeling.

“Not hungry,” Dorian growled as he gripped the other man’s jumper to pull him in for another heated kiss. Cullen chuckled against his lips and rocked against him once before he set to untangling himself to get up and answer the door. Maker. Grey eyes closed and Dorian let himself stretch out along the couch. His mouth tasted like Cullen, and his skin was practically buzzing for how closely they’d been pressed together. He needed this, and he was so glad he’d gone over there.

It wasn’t long before Cullen returned, the smallest of smirks written across his face. That was a sexy kind of look. Dorian returned it as best he could, especially with how he could _feel_ that golden gaze wandering over him. Who couldn’t appreciate that, after all? So saying, he stretched again so his shirt rode up a little to expose a flat stomach with slightly coarse black hair trailing down under his waistband. He knew he looked good, after all.

One of Cullen’s hands extended, “Come on,” he prompted, “I never gave you the tour.”

Again, unexpected. Dorian chuckled and took the offered hand so he could be pulled to his feet. He stepped into Cullen, pressing them together again, and their mouths met with a bit more hunger than they had the first time. A soft groan escaped one of them, though Dorian wasn’t even sure who, and he wound his arms around Cullen’s neck. He didn’t care about dinner. Food could wait. His blood was hot and his mind was quiet and that was all he wanted.

Cullen broke that kiss before too long and took Dorian’s hand to lead up up the small spiral staircase that led to the lofted bedroom. It was about as plain as the rest of the flat, but it didn’t matter. The lamp beside the bed cast the room in a warm kind of light, and as Dorian landed on the mattress on his back he smiled for the sight of Cullen bathed in that soft glow. It wasn’t harsh, made it all seem a little more intimate, and Dorian reached up a hand to pull the other man down with him. It was all hands and mouths then: pulling at clothes and touching soft skin while they kissed. Wonderful tour, really.

It was so easy to get lost in the haze that was nothing but lips and fingers and the press of skin against skin. Dorian liked the weight of Cullen leaning over him like he had been before, only this time there weren’t too many layers between them. It felt warm and right and like he was lost in a dream. Perhaps he might have thought he _was_ dreaming, but the sudden nip of teeth against his throat shook Dorian from his thoughts. No. No dream ever felt that good.

“Cullen,” he prompted softly before those scarred lips were over his again and the other man’s hips were grinding against his own.

They were sinking into the bed, hands roaming in attempt to map new skin, and Dorian happily let himself be lost. He listened, touched where Cullen’s breathing picked up for the brush of his fingers, and ducked his head to taste that gorgeously pale skin. In the dim light they moved like bronze and ivory, tangled and wrapped together, and it truly felt like he’d let himself be taken to the Fade by something diabolically lusty. It had been a long time since he’d felt so in tune with someone, matched touch for touch, and part of him wished it wouldn’t end. It hadn’t even started yet, but Dorian didn’t want it to end.

Warm lips wrapped around one of his nipples and Dorian dug his fingers into Cullen’s back for it. His skin was alight with more energy than it did when he cast his magic, and as he bucked upward to get more of that sensation he could feel the Veil swirling around him. It was rare for him to lose himself like that, but it felt good to. Teeth teased him, and Dorian turned his head to press against thin sheets as a thin and reedy sound left his throat. For as shy and awkward as Cullen looked, he certainly seemed to know how to push all of Dorian’s buttons. It almost didn’t seem fair.

“Dorian?” was the breathless ask from below his chin, and grey eyes opened to seem amber ones looking back up at him. Cullen’s face was flushed pink, eyes dark, and his lips were already red and a little swollen for all the kisses and bites they’d shared. He was beautiful. Statues needed to be erected in honor of that look with that face and how his chest was heaving just a little.

“Alright?” he asked as he lifted a hand to ruffle those soft curls, “it’s good.”

Cullen nodded and leaned up for another kiss. Both arms slipped between Dorian and the mattress to roll them, and he suddenly found himself on top of Cullen. Not a bad place to be, really. He smiled, leaned over that strong chest, and set to letting his lips wander. For his part, Cullen reacted beautifully. Already Dorian knew some of his more sensitive places from where he’d touched before, and he used that to his advantage now. The soft sounds Cullen made, how he rolled his hips when Dorian’s mouth found somewhere that he liked, were addictive.

He kissed his way lower, fingers tracing Cullen’s hip as he mouthed his way down the other man’s chest and stomach. Dorian liked Cullen’s body: strong but not overly muscled, a bit hairy and freckled, with what felt like a thin layer of fat to keep the man warm in those dark Ferelden winters. He’d never been with someone so deliciously Southern. The way Cullen’s voice curled around his words, that inelegant Fereldan lilt, made Dorian’s stomach do flips. Soft breathy groans filled the room the lower Dorian moved, and as he pushed himself backward to settled between Cullen’s legs he couldn’t help but chuckle for the audible gulp he heard.

“Easy,” he soothed as he pet one of Cullen’s thighs, “I’ve got you.”

A chuckle, though it was less of a laugh and more of a breath, “I know,” Cullen answered.

Dorian leaned back over then. This had been what he’d needed to clear his head. Clearly, Cullen needed it too. He’d never expected the other man to initiate like that, though it was a wonderful surprise, but he was certainly glad. So far he’d spent his share of nights up way too late, but at least this one would be well spent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! I am blown away by the support for this fic! Thank you so much for your comments and feedback and likes and kudos and reblogs (and so many things)! You're the ones who make the writing worth it, and I just hope that this story (with all its angst that's coming later, trust me) makes some people smile.
> 
> Also, as you can tell, my hand my have slipped a bit in this chapter. Ahem. I hope you enjoy!


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen and Dorian get closer, and some shady dealings are revealed.

The feeling of someone moving beside him made Dorian stir. It was a strange feeling recently: waking up in the same place and yet still feeling like he had no idea where he was. That happened in Kirkwall too, for a time, and not at all for the first time since he’d ducked out of the Pavus House he wondered if he’d ever be truly comfortable anywhere again. And yet, where he was wasn’t his rooms at the College. Dorian blinked.

Cullen’s.

Yes, of course it was Cullen’s. He hadn’t had anything to drink the night before so the memory came back with little prompting.

Dorian took a breath and surveyed his surroundings. He was in Cullen’s bed, specifically the middle of it, on his back and all but spread-eagle out. That was just how Dorian slept, after all, and he noted with a quick shift of his hips that he was naked. A smile touched his face for that. Beside him, Cullen lay on his side with his head pillowed on Dorian’s chest. Perhaps that had been what woke him. Dorian wasn’t used to actually sleeping in bed with other people. The way Cullen curled around him: head on his chest, one arm tucked neatly around his torso, and one leg thrown across Dorian’s; he hadn’t expected a man like Cullen to sleep so...protectively? Like maybe he was guarding him. Maybe he was being a bit too romantic. Probably.

It was early. Grey-blue sunlight bled into the room from behind thin curtains and bathed the room in a just-post-dawn kind of shadow. Dorian never woke this early on his own. He took a moment to blink a few times and clear his eyes, taking in the speckled ceiling and both the sound and smell of Cullen wrapped so easily around him. Part of him wanted to be awake, but the longer he lay there the more he wanted to close his eyes again and just drift. Waking up and actually getting out of bed had always been two very different things for him, and he was infinitely better at the first that the second, especially when he had even a small reason not to move.

He took a deep breath and let himself relax a bit more. If he tried, Dorian could pick out various scents: a musky cologne, laundry soap, a light hint of sweat from their activities the night before. That one caught him a bit off guard, and though Cullen wasn’t awake to notice Dorian still blushed a bit. He could be more confident than anyone, surely, but the remembered sounds and feelings were enough to make his blood start to stir again. It had been what he needed. This was the first morning in a while that he woke with as clear a head as he had.

Cullen shifted beside him, curled in closer, and without a second though Dorian lifted a hand to trail through mussed curls. He let his fingers wander, a gentle movement for them both, and grey eyes slid closed at the memory of his his hand had curled into Cullen’s hair the night before for a whole other host of reasons. His body was slightly sore, used, but happy. Sated. It was a nice way to wake up in the morning. Despite the sticky greyness coming in from the window, it felt like a fog had lifted.

“N-no,” was the soft whimper that only just caught Dorian’s attention. He felt it more than he heard it. Cullen’s hold on him tightened, and he felt the rasp of stubble against his skin as the other man buried his face in closer. “Please,” he murmured. Any other time Dorian might have thought that might have been a sexy kind of dream, but the tone was wrong. “Please don’t,” Cullen’s voice was shaking.

Nightmares? He’d heard murmurings that Templars got them from time to time. Dorian frowned. Something about that made his stomach clutch in a way he wasn’t quite prepared for. That something could happen to Cullen, or at least be bad enough to impede his sleep, made him inexplicably angry. The man was a giant bear, of the teddy variety, and he couldn’t imagine someone doing anything to hurt him. Not that he had any control over that, clearly, but Cullen was...well, he was good. He had the look of a good man. It seemed entirely unfair that he should know things bad enough to influence his dreams.

“Shh,” Dorian soothed gently, fingers winding in spun gold as he held that strong form in closer, “you’re safe.”

A sound. More shifting of the mattress, then Cullen’s head lifting a little, “Who...Dorian,” he murmured, and Dorian felt the clutch around him tighten, “please tell me I didn’t wake you up.”

The mage shook his head, “You didn’t,” he answered before wiggling down a bit so they were forehead to forehead, “it’s okay.”

It was sweeter than he normally was. Somehow taking that moment to breathe the same air made him sappy. Not that it mattered. Dorian had always said that whatever happened in the early hours, before the day really started, wasn’t reality. Let him be the man Cullen clung to and let him cling back. It was alright. They’d spent the night totally wrapped up together anyway, so there was little point in trying to hide now.

They stayed like that for a long while. The light behind the curtains grey brighter, more yellow than grey, and Cullen pulled Dorian in closer until there was little difference in where one of them ended and the other began. He took in the feeling of the Fereldan’s chest moving against him, how his skin smelled, and how it reminded him of the night before. Dorian almost slept again, drifty and happy as his mind was for the moment, but the creeping light was making it hard. Then, of course, the inevitable embarrassing moment of the hookup. There was always one.

His stomach made a rather obscene kind of gurgling noise.

There was a pause, a very polite kind that was clearly neither of them wanting to call attention to it. Cullen lifted his head, the smallest of smiles across that scarred mouth, and he leaned in to kiss Dorian, “I suppose I kept us from dinner last night, huh?” he chuckled.

Maker help him. That blush in his cheeks was back, despite his efforts, and Dorian kissed Cullen back, “Not complaining,” he pointed out after a long moment.

“Don’t move,” Cullen instructed before he leaned in for another kiss and started to get to his feet, “or, I mean...yes, move, but stay comfortable up here. There’s extra towels and washcloths under the sink in the bathroom if you want a shower.”

One of Dorian’s eyebrows cocked, “And where are you going, exactly?”

Cullen smirked, “the kitchen,” and kissed the top of Dorian’s head before he grabbed up a pair of what looked like flannel pajama pants from the floor.

\--

Cooking had never been Cullen’s forte. Thankfully he had a couple of containers of leftovers that he could warm up, and scrambled eggs and toast didn’t exactly require extra brain cells to make. It gave him a moment to get up and clear his head, too, which was sadly necessary. Not because of Dorian, not really, but because the minutes after waking up from something like that were always hard and it was better to have something to do with his hands.  

As he worked his mind wandered. It started to move toward the nightmare: Kirkwall on fire, Kinloch and the screaming. No. Not now. He focused instead on the morning. The night before. Dorian’s gentle hands on his hips as he leaned over and pressed so deeply into him. It had been a long time since sex had been such an _interactive_ situation. That last time, with Samson, had been about as animated as they’d been together in a long time. Last night had been different. It hadn’t felt like a desperate bid for closeness, not in the same way. Cullen had _wanted_ to be close to Dorian, had been excited to be, instead of feeling like it was the only way he’d get affection.

Though he moved in the kitchen by rote, scrambling eggs and pouring them into a pan, Cullen’s eyes didn’t see any of it. He saw Dorian above and below him, sweaty and panting, with grey eyes locked onto his and encouraging every moan and gasp with a cheeky smile that was slowly driving Cullen insane. His cock throbbed in his pants for the memory, for how it felt to be so completely engrossed in the acts and how it all felt, and he licked his lips to try to keep himself under control. They’d moved together like they were one person, taking and giving pleasure in equal parts, which had been quite the experience. Of course there were a few awkward moments where positions needed to be changed up or angles fixed, which was just how sex was, but it was less the need to get off and more the need to move together. Be together. Come together. Another throb. Too much more of that and breakfast would be an entirely different affair.

It was cliche. Cullen knew it was cliche. A part of him hated to be some walking punchline for romance, but there was another part of him knew it was cliche for a reason. Mostly. A tray of food with two cups of coffee balanced in his hands looked like every bad social media picture of the perfect morning. All that was missing was a beach sunrise or view from the balcony he didn’t have. Still, there was something about staying in bed for as long as possible. They hadn’t eaten, and it made more sense to be comfortable.

When he managed to get up the stairs with only a bit of spillage, Cullen smiled for the sight of Dorian on his stomach with his phone up near his face. He was stretched out across the bed, like he owned the queen sized mattress, and the blankets were artfully arranged to drape across his thighs but leave that perfect bronze ass on display. Seemed like Cullen wasn’t the only one playing at cliche this morning. It only made the stirring in his pajama pants that much worse, which would start to get evident before too long.

“Nice,” he commented with a soft laugh, “am I supposed to say something about painting you or something?”

Dorian smirked, “No,” and looked up from the screen just long enough to eye the tray Cullen held, “but color me impressed anyway.”

They rearranged, Dorian with his boxers on and the blankets pushed away, so they could enjoy the food Cullen had brought up. Scrambled eggs on toast with warmed through Rivaini curry probably wasn’t the sexiet kind of thing to serve, but it seemed to do the trick. They chuckled together as they ate, mostly silent for how hungry they both were, and reached out every so often to rest a hand on a knee or press a kiss to a shoulder. Sweet. Quiet. A good way to wake up.

“I’m not keeping you from being somewhere important, am I?” Cullen asked once most of the food had been finished and they sat back against the pillows with their mugs in hand.

The mage shook his head, “Am I keeping you from getting ready for work?”

“Off today. I’ve got a meeting tonight, so we’re good.”

“So plenty of time for a lie-in, yes?”

Maker, how he would have liked that. Cullen smiled and leaned over to kiss Dorian’s lips. Despite the slightly heavy food, he still tasted as sweet and refreshing as Cullen could have ever imagined. It was addictive. One hand moved from the mug to rest at the mage’s hip and he sucked gently at Dorian’s lower lip. “Definitely,” he agreed.

Another rearrangement. The tray was put on the floor along with the empty mugs and Cullen pulled Dorian in close against him. They lay side by side, pressed flush from chest to groin, and that stirring that had finally settled somewhat started again. It was a lazy kind of thing, though, as opposed to the needy and heady coupling from the night before. They kissed, mouths moving against each other in deep contemplation and searching out every inch they could taste. Mornings were meant for this. He could have spent hours just lying there and getting to know every dip and curve of the Tevinter’s body.

So he did.

“Things will be busy,” he murmured against Dorian’s shoulder. He was pressed in against Dorian’s back up against the sink in the bathroom. They were drying off after a very necessary shower that neither of them wanted to part for. Dorian’s skin was still flecked with water and Cullen ducked his head to press a sucking kind of kiss against bronze skin as he lapped it up.

A soft groan, and one of Dorian’s hands wound around behind them to grab at Cullen’s arse, “Trying to scare me off, Commander?”

“No,” he went on, “just so you know. I’m not running from you.”

Dorian hummed and moved a bit so he could turn around in Cullen’s hold and kiss him, “Just keep talking to me, hm?” he asked, “so I know you’re alive?”

If that report he’d read the day before, the thing he was running from now, was any indication he’d probably need the distraction. No. Not distraction. Dorian wasn’t a distraction. Saying as much was an insult. He’d need the...companionship, maybe. “I might, um...need that,” he managed after a long kiss, “if that’s okay?”

One of Dorian’s hands wound into his wet hair and Cullen leaned in so their foreheads were pressed together again. Something about this, despite how the man made his head spin, was comforting. Dorian seemed to chase away the bad things like a torch in a dark room. “I’m here if you need me,” he murmured, “phone call away.”

Maker help him. That offer shouldn’t have sounded so good. That said, after the avalanche of anxiety that report had given him at work it was nice to have someone in his corner. He’d apparently gone white as a sheet by the time Cassandra went back to check on him. Bad. Very not good. A lot of implications. A lot of implications that could point to him, which he assumed was why Leliana had given it to him first. He needed someone he could count on. Dorian, despite the insane tale of their meeting, could perhaps be that person. Hopefully.

\--

“I just need to leave this on her desk,” Dorian told the janitor that was pulling out a ring of keys that were so heavy he could probably kill a man with them. He’d been back on campus for an hour, long enough to change his clothes and print the proposal he’d started the day before at Vivienne’s prompting. She was gone, out on some social engagement as always, and he wanted to at least pretend like he’d been the good student and working like she’d asked.

The man grunted and opened the door to Vivienne’s office. He didn’t care. Dorian knew he didn’t care. “Just lock up when you leave,” he grumbled and headed back to the hallway Dorian had found him waxing the floor in ten minutes before. Good. Let him drop this off in peace and run back to bed where he could nap and try to cash in on the lazy afternoon.

Dorian stepped into Vivienne’s office. Well, ‘office’ wasn’t really the right word. Salon. She entertained guests, held meetings, worked, and all but lived in these rooms. It almost felt like sneaking into his parents’ bedroom as a child. He looked around, the lined bookshelves and ornate furniture that much more interesting now that he was technically sneaking. He wasn’t, but slipping the file under the door seemed a bit cliche. He’d done enough cliche for the day.

He dropped the file on her desk, which was surprisingly messy, and lingered for just a moment. Being nosy wasn’t going to do anything for him, Dorian knew that, but he could argue that standing just a second longer than he needed to was alright. It absolved him of anything he might accidentally learn. Though for the state of things, it seemed like whatever social call Madame de Fer was out on came on like a storm. Dorian had never seen her things in such disarray.

Something caught his attention, perhaps more than it should have, and Dorian frowned. He’d seen that page before. Recently. Very recently, in fact. With a quick look back up to the door he picked up the paper, grey eyes narrowing for the sight of it. Templar documents. The same Templar documents, or at least another copy, of the ones Cullen had on his couch. He’d only looked at the briefly, under the same guise of not snooping, but he recognized a few of the words. Lyrium. Red lyrium. He hadn’t heard of that before.

Medical reports. Something about changing the body’s makeup. He was stuck in now, and hopefully with enough time to read before anyone got nosy and came back to see why the door was open. Dorian bent over the desk, flicking through the pages, and paused when he came across some handwritten notes. The red lyrium sounded like a nightmare, something out of a fantasy novel, and yet there were notes in Vivienne’s handwriting. Clearly she couldn’t be involved with it. Just interested?

_Recent tests have shown that the lyrium continues to crystallize until and after death. Bodies infected with the compound antemortem seem to create better hosts postmortem. It is still unclear what effects the bodies have on the crystals, as opposed to vice versa, with testing to be conducted at a later date._

Impossible. Dorian pulled out his phone then an took a few pictures. The wheels in his head were turning, spinning faster, and suddenly he was struck with an idea. It would take some careful finagling to get it sorted out, but he was suddenly hit with inspiration like he hadn’t known in months. More pictures, pictures of whatever he could get, and he left the office with a quick snap of the door before jogging back to his rooms.

\--

Herald’s Rest wasn’t at all the type of place Cullen had expected a woman like Leliana to call a meeting in. It was your typical pub kind of affair with lots of wood and dark shadows. She’d struck him, despite her reputation, as a trendy bar kind of lady. The place was mostly empty, save for a long table at the back with people gathered around. He’d given the place a cursory check, holdover from Kirkwall an Kinloch, and made his way over. Clearly he was one of the last to arrive.

There were some familiar faces: Cassandra, Leliana and more nebulously Josephine Montilyet and Vivienne de Fer. He knew of them. The rest? All unknowns. Names, ones that he didn’t recognize, were tossed about and Cullen nodded toward each of them. A Qunari, two elves, a dwarf, and another human with the most impressive beard Cullen had seen in a while. All agents of this, apparently nonexistent, task force. Cullen would come to know their purposes, he knew as much, as they all seemed content to speak in hushed tones with each other. It seemed, though, that he wasn’t there to meet _them_. Not really.

“I must speak with you,” prompted Leliana. She’d gotten to her feet and took Cullen by the elbow. Cassandra was standing beside her, looking a concerned as she always did, and almost cutting his head in half with how pointed her gaze was. None of them were on the job, not technically, but both Leliana and Cassandra had the air like they were still in uniform.

They led him over to an empty booth and sat down. Leliana’s face was an unreadable as ever, though Cassandra’s was enough for them both. “Have I done something?” Cullen asked as he slid into the seat.

“Not you,” Cassandra answered, “I know you read the file Leliana gave you. About the findings in Kirkwall.”

The pale face at the office was probably proof enough of that. “I did, yeah,” Cullen answered, “I never knew anything about red lyrium. I knew Meredith was taking something pretty serious, but I just assumed it was...well, not _this_.”

Leliana nodded, “Varric’s been keeping us informed as best he can,” she agreed, “but you saw the name that came up.”

Cullen stiffened. He wanted to argue. Well, he wanted to lie about his affiliation anyway. That wouldn’t really do him any good, nor would it look like he was willing to actually work for this totally-nonexistent task force that had been put together. “Samson, yes,” Cullen answered after a long moment. He couldn’t help how he almost choked on the words. “If this is to ask my permission-”

“Not permission,” Cassandra answered, “he’s being brought in for questioning. Privately, by some of Leliana’s people, and you need to lead the interrogation.”

It felt like he’d had a car dropped on him. Or something like. “Me? Why me?” Cullen asked, probably a bit more loudly than he needed to, as some of the others turned to look at him.

“The people here are the only ones that have his name in their paperwork,” Leliana explained, “the proper reports, the ones that have been given out so far, don’t list any people of interest. Yet.”

“If you don’t work on this there’s the chance your name might come up as a possible accomplice,” Cassandra supplied, “considering your...relationship.”

That one stung, and Cullen set his jaw. He could feel his heartbeat starting to thump painfully against his chest and it was suddenly very hot. This wasn’t something he wanted to do. Then again, he wasn’t an accomplice. He’d never supplied lyrium to Samson, never, but if it came out that something was remiss...Maker, he could be court martialed. Supplying lyrium to those outside the Order was a huge offense, and to even be considered of it would kill his career. “So he comes here and I ask him about the red lyrium?” Cullen asked, trying desperately to keep his tone in check, “I can...I can do that. He’d probably talk to me more anyway.”

Leliana nodded, “Our thoughts exactly. It keeps your good name in check, and we’ll get some details,” she answered, “I can only keep his name out of the reports for so long, but I wanted to be sure you knew first. We must look after our own, yes.”

“Thanks,” Cullen replied with a nod. Thank the Maker they were at a pub because he needed a drink. A drink and... _some blue. A dose would be so good._ His body was reaching in his anxiety, that which had been nearly forgotten for how the morning with Dorian had been, and a good strong dose of the blue would seriously help right now. His head would be pounding later.

Cassandra took a breath then, “He’ll be in custody by your next shift on Monday,” she stated, all Seeker now, “so be ready. I...can’t imagine what it might be like, but I’ll be there should you need me.”

He did appreciate that. “Yeah,” Cullen agreed again with another nod. He felt like a puppet, almost. “Thanks, I’ll...review the rest of what you gave me. See what he reacts to.”

One of Leliana’s hands reached out to touch Cullen’s arm and she gave him a look, “We’re counting on you, Commander,” she told him.

Of course.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen interrogates Samson and must come to grips with both his past and his future.

_“How could you do something so reckless? Why would you!”_

_“You wouldn’t understand.”_

_“Explain it to me, then.”_

_“Why? Even if I did you’d try to give me twenty reasons that I was wrong. I wasn’t wrong.”_

_“You could be arrested for this. How is that even worth it?”_

_“Like that’s the worst thing that could happen to me.”_

_“Isn’t it?”_

_“For someone who’s seen the shit you have, Rutherford, you’re so fucking naive it’s actually painful.”_

He’d been drumming his fingers on the counter for probably half an hour, lost in thought as he was, and the mug of coffee he’d come down to make had probably gone well past cool and into the undrinkably cold territory. Cullen didn’t see any of it. What he saw was their flat and Samson sitting outside on the steps with a cigarette in hand. The day had been a clusterfuck at best: a text saying Samson had been arrested off duty, requests for their lyrium fills, something about dark alleys and money, and Cullen had been running around pretty much the entire day. No one would tell him anything, but as Samson’s roommate and closest thing to next-of-kin he was responsible for doing what they asked.

Dealing. Actually dealing lyrium. Picking up near twice the requested amount and selling it to undocumented mages, Templars who were outside the Order, and giving a cut to their supplier through the Chantry. Apparently Maddox needed the money for his pregnant girlfriend and Samson offered up the deal so they could both get some extra cash, but someone had either gotten sloppy with the paperwork or Samson hadn’t quite gotten down the best places and times to meet his clients.

It would explain why he seemed to be on all the time. He’d started burning doses more and more often, which often ended with Cullen doing it as well to keep up. Nothing felt real, like a long and rather sickly kind of dream, and by the time Samson had been unceremoniously thrown out of the Order they were both using far more than they should have been. That had been, perhaps not the start, but a significant moment in their decline. Cullen had stopped being able to trust Samson: trust leaving his doses at home, trust that he wasn’t out doing something dangerous to get a fix, trust that has name wasn’t being dragged through the mud as well.

The protests and rebellion had almost felt Maker sent. It gave him a reason to want to be gone. It had been hard, traumatic, but Cullen hated acting without reason. He’d loved Samson more than he could remember loving someone that wasn’t family, in his way, and just up and leaving with the implied blame on the other man wasn’t how he’d wanted to end it. So...things had happened like they had.

Now he had to look the man in the face. More than that, he had to look him in the face as a professional and try to prove he wasn’t in on whatever this was. It was less about seeing Samson, Cullen wasn’t that lovesick, but instead having to see him and make these accusations in a way that affirmed his own innocence. Samson had always brought out what little bad boy he had in him, and he _knew_ it. Maker help him, but this had the makings of yet another clusterfuck with his name written all over it.

So he’d dressed, taking care to wear as crisp a uniform as he could, and made himself look more put together than he had in months. By the time he finished and looked in the mirror, Cullen almost believed that he was...well, normal. He’d detoxed in those couple of months in that gross hotel so he looked less sick than he used to, but he was by no means the filled out and strong looking man he’d been in the past. The lyrium had taken a lot of weight off him, leaving him a bit gaunt in the cheeks and tired in the eyes. Still, this was as good as it was going to get. Confidence. He could at least fake it until this was over.

\--

The office was quieter than usual. When Cullen arrived with his arms full of files and folders the place looked almost deserted. Strange. He settled into his office, more or less sure Cassandra would come get him when the time came, and started flicking through the pages he’d all but memorized over the last twenty-four hours. They were mostly for intimidation, something like making sure he knew they had something on him, but Cullen had been intimately familiar with the proceedings of Samson’s court martial to the tun that he could still all but recite it from memory. Cassandra and Leliana needed to know he was working, though. He’d spent the last day reading over every bit of information on the red lyrium he could find and made notes like he was actively being paid for it. Connections, theories, anything he could think of had been written down until his head pounded. On some level, he was actually glad the office was quiet so he wouldn’t have to answer anything awkward.

“Are you ready?” asked a voice from the doorway, and Cullen looked up to see Cassandra standing with her shoulder against the doorframe. She was trying to look nonchalant, but nonchalant never really worked for her. Those hazel eyes were just that bit too severe for her to look at ease when she wasn’t really feeling it, and Cullen felt that look down to his core. A tremor. His stomach felt just the slightest bit sick and he was happy he’d skipped breakfast.

He swallowed hard and nodded, “I...yeah, um...yeah,” he answered as he got to his feet and set to gathering everything again. His hands were shaking. Hopefully that wasn’t perceptible, but they were. “What room?” Cullen asked. He felt clumsy. That hadn’t happened in a long time.

Cassandra watched him closely, gaze moving over him in a way he could almost feel. Was she sizing him up? Did she think he actually had something to do with this and was trying to sort of if he was giving anything away? Cullen didn’t know. He never did very well under such close and personal scrutiny before. It made him feel claustrophobic. Suddenly it felt like his collar was too tight and that a weight was resting on his chest. It hurt to breathe for the weight that settled just over his ribs.

“Room four,” she answered as he moved closer, and reached out a hand to rest on his arm as he came level with her, “I will be there the whole time. Watching. If you need back up or...anything, a sign?”

Cullen breathed for a moment, “two raps on the table,” he answered immediately, “middle knuckle.” That had always been his signal should he need help with something. He was met with a nod and there was a quickly dashed hope that it might have eased him. It didn’t.

The door to the room looked like any other door, but to Cullen it might as well have been the door to a bank vault. It felt oppressive, heavy, and like if he opened it he’d be stepping back in time. His hands were sweating and shaking, which really wasn’t going to do him any favors on trying to look authoritative, but he managed to stand as tall as he could. This _wasn’t_ about Samson. No. This wasn’t about _them_. Samson was a man, an ex-Templar cast out for dealing lyrium on the sly, and Cullen didn’t owe him anything. Their relationship, whatever it was, had nothing to do with the man sitting in there.

Two breaths, deep in and out, and Cullen opened the door. He tried to look as official as possible with his eyes focused low and looking like he’d just come from somewhere incredibly important. No one needed to know he’d hardly slept the night before and had spent the better part of the morning counting the minutes until he’d needed to get ready. This was a tactic they’d learned a lifetime ago, which was partially useful to make someone think they weren’t really worth the time but mostly useful for him so that he wouldn’t have to look at-

“You look like shit.”

His fingers tightened against the stack of papers before he put them down and Cullen lifted his head. Maker help him. Maker _please_ help him. Samson. Raleigh Samson in handcuffs and sitting in a metal chair like a criminal. _He IS a criminal._ Cullen felt his mouth go dry then and he took another breath before he all but dropped himself in the opposite chair to the man at the end.

“Not even a smile?” Samson pointed out, “I thought Orlais might work the stick _out_ of you, not cram it in harder.”

“You’re a person of interest in a Templar investigation,” Cullen hissed. He knew what Samson was after. He knew the shit eating grin that showed a bit more gum than it did before and the tone of voice that used to make him roll his eyes and lay his head on the man’s shoulder. “This...we’re being recorded for both our safety, so if you could state your name in full for me.”

A scoff, “You know my name,” and a grin, “and so do they if they dragged me this far. You say it.”

Ugh. The man had always had a difficult side to him. At least now Cullen had the time and space to recognize it as annoying as opposed to endearing. “Your name,” he repeated, “in full.”

The man in handcuffs sighed then, “Former Knight-Templar Raleigh Samson,” he stated, “of Kirkwall. Anything else?”

He was cooperating. That was a good sign. “Alright,” Cullen started, then pulled open one of the files, “you’ve been brought in as a person of interest in a case. Do you have any idea why that is?”

“Because the ones who do the right thing are the first ones to get called in for this kind of shit?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Listen to you, going by the script,” Samson chuckled, “going easy and hardly looking at me. You know good and well what right thing I did and why they want me here. Skip it and let’s figure out what I’m being charged with, hm?”

The tone made Cullen’s skin crawl. The man had always had a maddening superiority complex and a need to prove that Cullen could never get one up on him. “You’re not being charged with anything,” he argued, “yet. Obviously there’s a reason for you to be brought in if you’re so defensive, though.”

“I get thrown out because I wanted to do some right by the others who had to go without. Now they want to pin something big on me because, why not, ol’ Samson’s a nobody now. He’s a nobody who no one would remember, either,” he pointed out, then frowned, “other than you. So why don’t _you_ tell _me_ why I’m here.”

He tensed again then and sucked a breath in through his nose. “Are you still buying lyrium from Maddox?” Cullen asked, all pretense dropped from his tone. He wanted done with this.

Samson laughed, “Is that what this is about? Maddox?” Cullen watched as he wet his lips that looked more dry and cracked than he could remember. If he wasn’t buying from Maddox he was buying from someone, and obviously using something pretty heinous to look as thin as he did. “Maddox and Cora had another baby. He works in a clinic now and only takes business from paying clients with prescriptions,” Samson went on, “I haven’t seen him in weeks.”

“But you’re still buying from someone?”

“Am I going to be jailed for buying a drug the Chantry made me addicted to?”

“Buying lyrium without a prescription is a serious offense and you know it,” Cullen snapped, “where are you getting it?”

Samson shrugged. He looked terrible, for all his comments about Cullen. The handsome man Cullen knew and had fallen for had turned into a thin and drawn spectre of a former life. The dark hair that Cullen had so loved to run his fingers through fell stringy and dirty against his forehead and the blue eyes he’d spent hours looking into were wet and rimmed red. Swollen. He looked sick.

“Answer the question.”

“Or what, Cullen?” he asked, “I’m already in handcuffs. What do you think you could do to me that they haven’t already done?”

“There’s ways to get help. You could get help,” Cullen pointed out, and it wasn’t until he started speaking that he realized his voice was harried and a bit higher pitched. Worry. Concern.

Again, Samson shrugged, “I don’t want any help from the Order. Or the Chantry.” He smiled then, eyes locked onto Cullen’s, “you could help, though.”

Maker, he knew that look. Cullen flicked through the page again in the hopes that it would look like he was looking for something important, “whoever you’re getting it from? Carta? Another Templar? A mage? Are they asking you to do anything for it? In payment?”

Another smile, this one a wolfish kind of grin, “Are you asking if I’ve sold myself for dust?” he asked, “Are you sure that’s a conversation you want to have here? Because I’d hate to get you all flustered in front of your Seeker boss.”

“So they’ve asked you to do things?”

“You know, I come all the way here and you can’t even be bothered to talk to me,” Samson complained, “talk _at_ me, but you’re not listening. Don’t I even get a ‘hello, it’s been a nice few weeks since I came home to get my stuff and fuck you one more time before leaving permanently’? Something?”

Cullen’s jaw set hard so his teeth all but ground together and he gripped the pages in his hand that little bit tighter. “Hello. It’s been a nice few weeks since you told me I had no reason to stay. Now answer,” he replied through gritted teeth, “have they asked you to do anything?”

“Nobody’s asked me to do anything. I get it where I can and I give what money I’ve got,” Samson answered, “it’s all very professional, Knight-Captain.”

That was something. It was at least an actual answer. Cullen relaxed a little. He could do this. This was fine. Maybe...maybe they needed to be a little conversational. “Have you heard anything about Meredith?” he asked, “have you heard anyone talking?”

“You mean after the bitch went crazy?” Samson laughed, “people talk. Weird things, though. I heard they carried her to the hospital with rocks coming out of her.” A slow smile was creeping across his face then. Satisfaction. “The bitch deserves it,” he went on, “I’ve never known anyone so self-serving. Trying to do her job like that? I’m surprised she didn’t crack sooner.”

“You don’t know anything about her? No rumors?”

“There you go, not listening again,” Samson teased, “I thought you coming here was going to be good for you. All it’s done is made you look like you haven’t slept and you’re doing the Seeker’s job for her.”

Cullen frowned, “That’s not what this is about.”

“Isn’t it? What is it you want to hear? That I’ve been spreading hate on the streets about the Order and trying to have my own rebellion against the Chantry?” Samson hissed, “I could have joined up with those other idiots for that. I’m just trying to get my shit together.” He looked down at the table for a moment then before he lifted his gaze and swallowed a bit thickly, “I know you know all about that. At least give me _something_ , Cullen, to let me know that it’s working for you and you’re not the Order’s dog.”

“I _am_ a ranking member of the Order, and you’ll answer these questions with some respect.”

Samson was quiet for a long moment before he lifted his gaze to meet Cullen’s again. He nodded his head, slowly, and studied the man before him for a long time. Neither of them said anything, and just studied the difference that a few months could have. This had been a longtime coming, years probably, and while in an interrogation room wasn’t the ideal place Cullen knew it was going to happen sooner or later.

“I didn’t want this for you,” the older man murmured, “I didn’t want you to just do what you were told and not have a thought otherwise. You’re clever, smarter than the Order gives you credit for, and what are you doing with it? Killing people? Watching mages like hawks until they can’t handle it anymore? Leashing people to some unchaseable addiction that they’re punished for having when they’re not useful anymore?”

“You have a problem with the Order.” It wasn’t a question. Cullen had been listening to it for years. After the court martial, Samson had all but begged Cullen to turn in his seal on the back of some moral pretense and had been so angry when he hadn’t. Now he got to hear the same speech again.

“I have a problem with people not doing better,” Samson answered, “with you not doing better. I taught you so much more than this, then you fuck me like they did.”

His hand balled into a fist then, “I didn’t do anything. You made your bed and then got mad when you had to lie in it alone.”

“You didn’t stand up for me,” Samson hissed, “you just let them throw me out and acted like some yes-man about it.”

“I did what was right according to the vows we took!”

“You let them take everything because you’re no better than they are!” Samson shouted. He struggled a bit against the handcuffs that held him in place like he wanted to stand but couldn’t. “Act as righteous as you want, but you’re not doing anything but hurting people that’re just trying to get by!” he went on, “You were _better_! Now look at you! You’ve hauled in an innocent man and are trying to get him to confess to crimes he hasn’t even been told about yet! What _happened_?”

Maker, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t sit there and be accused of that. They’d had that fight so many times, but the sight of Samson in handcuffs and acting every bit the actual innocent man made his chest ache. It was too much. Too much, and Cassandra would never believe he wasn’t involved somehow. Samson was going to get what he wanted with Cullen being thrown out of the Order and then he’d have nothing.

Two sharp raps on the table with his middle knuckle as he pinched the bridge of his nose and got to his feet. A break. He needed a break before they got into a shouting match that had nothing to do with red lyrium or people of interest. No one in the Order, or perhaps the task force of Leliana and Cassandra’s, needed to hear their dirty laundry on video. Cullen was done. He needed to be out of there.

“Tapping out so soon?” Samson snarled as Cullen reached the door, “not surprised. You always were such a baby when it came to confrontation. Go run to Mama Seeker, she’ll mop up your mess, and go hide in your office. Pathetic.”

\--

Cassandra had given him a few minutes before she came to find him. Cullen had gone straight to his office, shaking with frustration and rage, and had landed a decent punch against one of the file cabinets before sitting down at the desk. He was sitting with his fingers tangled in his hair until it hurt, eyes closed, and tried to remember how to breathe. How embarrassing had that been? So degrading. He’d let Samson get the better of him while he ran off in a huff like they were fighting at home. That had been Cullen’s trick: to leave once the yelling started to escape to either a long shower or out to the bar where he didn’t have to hear it. Then he’d come back to Samson snoring in bed or back out to him watching television in silence. They’d ignore each other for a while, maybe a full day, then burn a dose to have the best makeup sex Cullen had known in his life. When she leaned in the doorway Cullen was years away in those memories.

“Are you alright?”

Cullen took a shaky breath. His eyes were a bit wet and his breathing felt labored. No. He wouldn’t cry. _Wouldn’t_. “Fine,” he answered, then cleared his throat for how soft and unsure his voice sounded, “I’m fine. I just...needed a break.”

She nodded, “I noticed,” and moved to take a seat in one of the chairs that sat across from Cullen’s desk.

Now he was worried. Had she come to tell him how useless that had been? Would she tell him not to bother and that he’d be investigated too? Cassandra’s face didn’t betray anything and that almost scared Cullen more than if she were angry. “I’d understand if you don’t want me to interview him anymore,” he offered, “after that.”

“Why would I pull you off now?”

Cullen cocked an eyebrow, “Because...you saw. He knows all the buttons to press. Plus I’d assume you and everyone else doesn’t want to hear the ins and outs of our breakup.” He swallowed again then. “It wasn’t exactly professional.”

That earned him a nod, but Cassandra didn’t agree out loud. Instead she looked down at her watch, “I have Barris with him for the moment,” she began, “so he’s under supervision.” She got to her feet then, “Come on, let’s go take a walk. It’ll do you some good to clear your head.”

“Seriously?”

“Cullen,” Cassandra prompted, “walk with me.”

So they’d walked. They’d walked down the road and to a small cafe where Cassandra made him buy a milky latte and a sandwich. It was still early, before eleven, but somehow she’d known he hadn’t eaten anything. Cullen hadn’t wanted to, though once he had a bite or two he couldn’t help finishing half before they’d even said a word. His stomach growled almost comically, like Dorian’s had the other morning, and for the first time in what felt like an Age he smiled to himself. The thought made him feel human again.

“I’ve never seen you flustered before,” Cassandra mused as she sipped her coffee, “it’s been an education.”

And that was how the smile faded. Culled wiped his lips free of the latte and shifted a bit uncomfortably, “he knows what to say to get to me. I shouldn’t have let him.”

“Were you together long?”

He sighed, “Six years,” and rubbed at the back of his neck with one hand, “lived together for four.”

Cassandra was studying him again. “That’s a long time,” she offered, “it would be hard to see someone you were with for that long in a situation like this.”

“Yeah,” Cullen agreed, and tried to press at the knot that seemed to forever be at the base of his neck, “I...we left everything pretty okay, but there’s still issues.”

“Tell me about it,” she prompted, “if you can.”

He picked up his coffee then and stared down into it. It was so easy to let himself fall back into those memories. They felt obscenely close, like sitting too close to a television screen, and the longer he sat there the harder it was to see the whole picture. Cullen knew none of it had been healthy, but when he only saw small parts that weren’t so bad or genuinely good it was difficult to remember there was more to it. He’d been unhappy. Well, maybe not _unhappy_ as such, but drifting aimlessly. That feeling nauseated him.

A whirl of memories hit him all at once, and he frowned for it. There was no picking one apart from another and he saw them off on trips, curled up together at home, at parties, walking late at night for no reason other than needing to move, and he couldn’t separate them. He saw them fighting, ignoring each other, existing together, then finally that last night before he’d left. There was no bad without the good and vice versa. Even when they’d fought Cullen knew neither of them would leave. They cared. They cared and they were both either exceedingly lazy or scared of what would happen without the other. Comfort did that.

“We got comfortable,” Cullen managed after a long pause, “and it was never going to go anywhere. Not really.”

“And when he was removed from the Order?” Cassandra asked.

He shrugged, “He’s always been a righteous fuck. I remember he’d go on for hours about all the ways the Order screwed people if you didn’t shut him off,” Cullen took another drink of his coffee then, “and that was before he got thrown out. After? It was just...constant. I’m half surprised he didn’t end up with those protesters when everything went down, but I guess he’s got a better sense of self-preservation than that.”

Of course Cassandra was watching him. If she was looking for cracks in his resolve then she probably already saw pretty much all of them. At this point Cullen wasn’t really trying to hide them. He’d fucked up that interview already, and trying to pretend like he hadn’t would only make it worse. Cassandra was good at her job, trusted people the right way, but maybe she’d made a mistake this time. Clearly she had. He was trying to ignore the feeling of her scrutiny, lost instead in thinking about that horrible conversation, and closed his eyes.

Hearing his name come out of Samson’s mouth had done things to him that Cullen hadn’t really prepared himself for. The man hardly addressed him, unless it was in jest, and never like _that_. It had made his blood run so very hot and then ice cold. The look in those blue eyes and how his mouth formed Cullen’s name was so...so unfair. It had been unfair then and it was unfair now. Obviously it was in every bid to throw Cullen off his game and make him as uncomfortable as possible, he knew that, but the knowledge didn’t help. Not really.

He took another breath, “I get it that you need to have someone else talk to him-” Cullen started, then stopped as Cassandra held up a hand.

“You think you did a bad job?” she asked, “why?”

“I...is that a trick question?”

“This isn’t a proper Order investigation, Cullen,” Cassandra pointed out, “it looks like it because we have to make sure it does. It isn’t.”

Okay. So that wasn’t what he was expecting. “So what, then?” Cullen asked.

“He reacts to you,” she went on, “if I or Leliana were to go in with him he wouldn’t say a word. You know that as well as I do.”

Cullen nodded. Samson had a stubborn streak leagues wide. He’d have demanded a lawyer, ignored questions even more than he had, and probably never opened his mouth. At least he’d given Cullen _something_. It probably wasn’t even a real answer, but they’d actually _talked_. That was a hell of a lot more than what anyone else would get out of him.

And then it all made sense.

“You’re not pulling me off this, then?” he asked.

Cassandra shook her head, “There’s too much history there for anyone else to do it. I’m sorry that it must be...this painful, Cullen. I understand that it is. We need him to tell us something, though. Anything you can get out of him would be useful.”

He nodded again. Right. Okay, he could do that. He could use his past relationship with someone he loved as a means to get information out of them for some Order...or, well, no not the Order. It was some beyond-the-Order group that want to right wrongs and do better things. See? He was doing the right thing after all. He was doing what Samson wanted.

“I just want to do more than what they did in Kirkwall,” Cullen murmured softly, “better. I came here because I wanted to do better.”

One of Cassandra’s hands reached out and she touched Cullen’s arm. He’d never known her to do such a thing and while he understood where the gesture was coming from it was a bit odd. They both looked down at where her hand rested against the material of his shirt, then chuckled at the same time as she pulled it away. Awkward, but at least she seemed to care. Cullen hadn’t had that in a long time. “We will do better,” she promised.

_You’re no better than they are._

\--

“I need you to tell me about who you’re buying from.”

A scoff, “What? You went off and had a tantrum and now you think we’re going to get back to business?” Samson laughed, “good on you. That’s the confidence I remember.”

Cullen had come back in with purpose. Food and drink and a clear head had helped steady his hands and his mind, so he wore far less of a worried expression on his face. Cassandra was watching, he knew that much, and he had a bit of a renewed sense of himself after that walk and a bit of chat. This wasn’t about he and Samson. This was about getting something they could use. Cullen could do that. He _would_ do that.

“Answer the question,” he demanded, “who are you buying from?”

“Ugh,” the older man sighed, “look, there’s too many to name them all. It’s all small time kids, anyway. They need money and I need the dust when I can get it. Besides, isn’t that Kirkwall’s problem?”

“Then tell me about red lyrium.”

That got a reaction. It was only small but Cullen watched as Samson’s eyes widened and he faltered for just a second. Maker, he could have laughed for it. Significant reactions were better than flippant remarks. A smile spread across Cullen’s face and he sat up a bit straighter to rest his elbows on the table. He’d wait until Samson managed some kind of answer, but if Cassandra was watching then she’d have seen it too. Good.

“Lyrium’s not red, Rutherford,” Samson managed after a moment, “is that some fancy Orlesian shit the Chantry uses here or something?”

“You’ve never heard anything about it then?” Cullen asked, “not around your contacts or...rumors?”

“Why would I have?”

“Well, you said earlier you heard that they carried Meredith off with, what was it, ‘rocks coming out of her’? Did that come from anyone you know?”

Another pause. He was scrambling. Cullen knew that look far too well. That was the look Samson always had when Cullen would come home from work and the dishes or whatever it was that sorely needed doing hadn’t been touched. He was coming up with an excuse. Perhaps this was what Cassandra had meant. Cullen knew Samson’s tells, and he’d be able to react the way they needed to get more.

“I just told you what they were saying out at the bars and everything,” Samson answered, “a lot of talk. I don’t know anything about rocks or lyrium that’s not blue, alright?”

Cullen nodded and wrote something down. It didn’t mean anything, but instead let him look like he’d gotten more than Samson meant to give away. “Well, if I poke around and find some of your contacts will they tell me the same thing?” he asked, “that you don’t know anything about anything red or...anything like that?”

That made Samson frown. “Are you going to tell me what I’m being charged with?” he hissed, “I’m done answering your questions if you’re going to start that cryptic shit.”

He shrugged, “I’m just asking what I need to ask.”

There was a long pause then, and Cullen watched Samson watch him. The longer they stared, eyes met and not talking, the more that confidence started to leave him. It had been easy when he was asking questions but Samson had always stepped up as the more alpha of them both. Cullen was used to taking a step back and being ‘his’ as opposed to the other way around or equal. That look was the same one they used to share after a fight at dinner or something equally stupid. He was trying not to let it show on his face. He was better than that.

“What are you doing?” Samson asked after a long moment, “with all this shit? You never did this before.”

“We’re not talking about me.”

“Bullshit. You came all the way out here to do something new because you were tired of the shit in Kirkwall,” he pointed out, “and now they’ve got you asking your ex about his drug habits?”

Cullen frowned, “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

A laugh, “Are you in trouble?” Samson asked, “and they want me in here so there’s someone to blame?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Fuck. Them,” Samson stated, taking care to pop the consonants hard, “they haven’t done you any favors. Just...tell them where to stick it. You’ll be so much happier.”

Cullen took a breath, “And then what? Go back with you? You told me I didn’t have any reason to stay, remember?”

The other man rolled his eyes, “The shit you say to make sure nobody’s got any hard feelings,” he argued, “you think I _wanted_ you to go? I mean, sure, it was nice to find someone new to fuck without any guilt. That was good. But do you really think we couldn’t make it work again?”

“I don’t want to make it work again.”

“Liar,” Samson chuckled, “it’s written all over you. You’re scared of this place and just want to go back where everything’s easy and makes sense.”

The hair on the back of Cullen’s neck was starting to stand up on end. He didn’t like it. That kind of talk was dangerous territory. He’d spend the better part of two months on a couch feeling like he was dying while he replayed everything from the last two years in his head on permanent loop. The move had been quick and dirty, spontaneous, and that was certainly not Cullen’s thing. He’d made himself sick a hundred times over whether he should have done it. It had only been recently that he’d really started to believe that, yes, he’d made the right choice. Now there was Samson making all the promises he’d wanted to hear.

“We’re not talking about this,” Cullen muttered as he lowered his gaze to look at the floor, “I’m not listening to it.”

“You miss it,” Samson went on, “and you don’t want to be doing this. We always talked about doing something _better_ , remember?” He tried to move forward but the handcuffs kept him pretty much immobile. A look of annoyance crossed his face as he struggled a bit then sighed. “We can do that,” he offered, “we can do so much better than the Order ever wanted for us. Come on. It’d be like old times but so much better.”

“Yeah, right.”

“ _Cullen_ ,” the word was almost whispered and it made him look up to meet those wet, red eyes, “listen to me, okay? Trying to do this thing here isn’t what you need. You want it, but...I know you better than that. You just want to help people. You can do that at home...and not alone.”

The sound of his name like that was a knife to the gut. Cullen frowned, mood falling by the moment, and he shook his head. No way. Samson could say all the words he wanted, but he wasn’t going to listen. He didn’t miss the man. He didn’t miss how easy it was to go home to their flat and curl up on the couch with Samson to rub his head when he was in a good mood. He didn’t miss late night takeaway and fighting over the last beer in the fridge before they agreed to share it and Samson would drink most of it. Certainly he didn’t miss the way they’d cling to each other on the nights the nightmares happened. They’d both woken with bloody noses or lips from errant fists or to the sound of shouting or whimpering. No one understood like they understood each other.

“That’s enough,” he said finally and got to his feet, “we’re done. Seeker Pentaghast will handle any other questions.”

“Don’t walk away from me, Rutherford,” Samson warned, “I’m trying to get you to do the right thing.”

“We’re _done_.”

\--

Cassandra had taken over from there. He couldn’t look at the man anymore. She’d been understanding, as she always was, and had thanked him for his work. They had enough cause to do some extra snooping now. Leliana would know Samson’s contacts probably before dinner, if the rumors about her were true, and that would mean more work on his end. It wasn’t ideal, nor was it pretty, but he’d gotten them something. Whatever this was, whatever Samson knew about red lyrium or whatever else, was going to help someone else. He needed to keep telling himself that. He was doing good work right where he was and didn’t need to go back.

Once he’d written up the report Cassandra had sent him home. He’d argued once, mostly for posterity, but went willingly when she told him to take the afternoon to let himself come down. His head felt like it was full of porridge, and a reprieve was just he needed. Cullen left without a word, not even caring to watch the last of the interview, and started to head for home. The sunlight would help pull him up and out of those memories and the words Samson had said to him. It had to.

It didn’t.

Home started to become less and less of a destination the longer Cullen walked. Streets he knew faded from where he was hardly paying attention and before long he was just wandering for the sake of wandering. Trying to do this at home, where he’d have to lie still or pace his floor in circles, would have been a nightmare. No, he could take in the people walking and looking and working and let himself drift. At least outside there wasn’t that oppressive feeling of being trapped with those words. Not that it helped much, but it was better than working himself into a state on his lonesome.

_It’d be like old times but so much better._

His ears rang with the offer Samson gave him. It wasn’t really an offer. It couldn’t be. Cullen almost refused to believe that if he did go back with the man that he’d be in any better of a place or that it would be at all different. Samson could talk anyone into anything if he had the mind, he’d always been that way, but Cullen was doing his best to not listen. A look from the other man and a bit of a shove had usually been all it ever took for whatever good plan Cullen had to go out the window in favor of whatever Samson wanted to do. Did that make him weak? Maybe it did.

After an hour, despite not being holed up at home, Cullen had actually managed to work himself up into some kind of state. Anxiety sat heavy on his chest and it was hard to walk and breathe. He could hardly separate the talk from before with the conversation they’d had before he’d left Kirkwall after that week, and not for the first time was questioning why he’d bothered to go. Things had been so easy. He hadn’t been over-the-moon happy, but he’d been content. Isn’t that what everyone wanted? Why had he bothered to do more than that?

Cullen found a bench after what felt like a lifetime of just walking and wandering, and he buried his head in his hands. Since he’d come to Val Royeaux he’d felt out of place, like maybe he’d made a mistake, and having someone put words to it only made it worse. Dorian had pointed out that his house looked like a prison, and he’d been right. He hadn’t felt comfortable enough to even make it feel like home. Maker help him…

No.

_No._

No, he wasn’t going down that road again. Cullen shook his head and tried to focus. Cassandra had laid it out that he was necessary to this task force to help do something to help the people. He was moving on. He’d only been there a month and hardly had time to unpack let alone decorate. He wasn’t out of place. Maybe a bit, sure, but this was still new. He hadn’t made a bad decision. Samson was wrong. He’d be wrong this time if it was last thing Cullen did.

_Where are you?_

He’d sent the text before he even realized it. Dorian would be working, probably, but Cullen didn’t care. A cab was easy enough to find and he wanted to be somewhere that wasn’t home and wasn’t work. The College was definitely neither of those things. He’d go there and see Dorian. He’d see him and they’d talk and he’d be reminded that everything was alright. He could laugh. Yes. Yes, that was good.

_On campus. Library. Why?_

Addendum to the address he’d given the driver. Library. Cullen would find him there and they’d...maybe they’d go get coffee. He had no idea. More than that, Cullen didn’t _care_. He just wanted to see that handsome face and prove that Samson was wrong. So wrong. Cullen had a friend. He had a very _attractive_ friend and they’d already shared a great night together. He wasn’t alone and he was strong enough to do this. Clearly.

When he made it to the library he sent another text asking where the mage was, and as he walked through the stacks and up the stairs Cullen could feel the eyes on him. A Templar in uniform was at the College. It probably would have made them nervous if he cared to pay attention, but his focus wasn’t on any of them. If they had anything to hide or seemed more ill at ease than usual Cullen didn’t notice. He just...he needed Dorian. He _needed_ him.

_4th floor east end. Are you ok?_

Cullen pulled open the door and all but ran in the direction Dorian’s text sent him in. He saw the mage first, busy at a table with piles of books and notes, and half jogged up. Dorian looked up, blinked a couple of times, then frowned. He looked...concerned. Worried. Worried like Samson never looked. It was a nice thing to see.

“What are you doing here?” Dorian asked as he got to his feet. His little area was quiet and free of any other people, which Cullen appreciated, so they didn’t quite have to whisper.

He didn’t answer and instead wrapped Dorian up into his arms and kissed him. Cullen kissed him more deeply than he ever had and he tangled his fingers in the soft material of the mage’s shirt to keep him close. It took a moment, along with a quick sound of confusion, but Dorian wound his arms around Cullen’s neck to return it. They kissed, deep and heated and uncaring of who saw it, until neither of them could breathe.

A soft laugh, “No, but really, what are you doing here?” Dorian asked.

“I needed to see you,” Cullen answered, and buried his face in against the mage’s neck, “I’ve had...a really shitty day.”

One hand tangled in Cullen’s hair and Dorian smiled, “So you come all the way out here to kiss me?” he teased, “must have been some day.”

He shook his head, “You have no idea,” Cullen told him, “can we...are you busy? I should have asked, but...do you have some time? Please?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Dorian answered before he kissed the Templar’s forehead, “just let me put some of this back. You can help if you want to move faster.”

Maker, _yes_. Cullen did as he was told with the books so they could be shelved later and it wasn’t long before Dorian had everything stashed in his bag. They walked hand in hand toward the elevators, and once the doors slid closed they were tangled together and kissing again. Cullen felt like he couldn’t breathe unless Dorian gave him the air. He just...he needed. He needed so much. Cullen needed to forget, needed to drown his sorrows, and the only person or thing he could do that in was Dorian.

The doors opened and Dorian pulled his lips away, “So where are we going?” he asked softly.

“Your room.”


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen comes clean about his reasons for seeking Dorian out, and Dorian makes some choices about his future.

_BZZZT_

_BZZZT_

_BZZZT_

Dorian let out a soft groan for the sound of technology all but grinding against wood. A phone. Phone vibrating. A phone was vibrating and it was making everything on the nightstand tremble. One eye opened, though it didn’t see much beyond  smear of late morning light across his room, and he lifted a hand to rub at his face.

_BZZZT_

_BZZZT_

_BZZZT_

He rolled over to look at the clock. It was just past ten and Dorian swore softly to himself before he reached over to grab the phone. That would probably be Aurelie wondering where he was. Except when he turned the screen on it wasn’t _his_ lock screen. It was one of the generic background pictures with a clock and what looked to be four missed calls and as many messages from someone named Cassandra. What in Andraste’s name?

Dorian blinked and looked over to the other side. He wasn’t alone in bed. Cullen. Cullen had come to the College the day before and they’d all but run up to his room after the man had surprised him with those deep and needful kisses in the library. Cullen, who was stretched out on his stomach but still pressed up against Dorian’s side with both arms tucked under the pillow, had stayed with him. It was...well, it was nice.

_BZZZT_

_BZZZT_

_BZZZT_

The phone started up again in Dorian’s hand, which made him jump a bit, and he moved to gently shake Cullen’s shoulder, “Hey,” he prompted, “your phone’s going insane.”

Beside him, Cullen roused just a bit and let out a rather uninterested noise, “fuck ‘em,” he complained. His voice was soft and muffled through the pillow, “it’s early.”

“Not that early,” Dorian pointed out, “it’s after ten.”

A pause. A longer pause. “Fuck me,” Cullen hissed as he rolled over and took the phone from Dorian’s hands. It took a few goes before he managed to get the thing unlocked, which amused Dorian more than he wanted to admit, and one large hand lifted to rub at his eyes. “Fucking...I’m going to get written up for this,” he muttered as he sat up and pressed the phone to his ear.

“Would you believe still in bed?”

“No, nothing like that. I stayed with a friend. I must have put my phone on silent when we went to bed.”

“I know.”

“Uh...yes. Yes, I did. Am. Sorry, ma’am, it won’t happen again. I can come in at lunch-”

“Right. Of course. Sorry. Just...sorry.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Dorian only heard half the conversation, though he did watch Cullen’s face through what he did hear. Not good. That wasn’t good at all. He tried not to pay too much attention, picked up his own phone to flick through it and send a quick message to Felix, but he couldn’t help but watch the other man’s shoulders slump before he hung up and pressed the heel of his hand against his head.

“Are you...is everything okay?” Dorian asked, then made a face for how stupid that sounded, “are you in a lot of trouble?”

He watched as Cullen took a deep breath and lowered his hand, “no, not really,” he answered and tossed the phone away from him a bit so he could lean over and kiss Dorian’s bare shoulder, “apparently I have the day off.”

Considering how Cullen had looked when he’d come to the library the day before, Dorian wasn’t surprised. It hadn’t put a damper on their activities the night before, not by a long shot, but it really looked like Cullen needed something that wasn’t work. He’d said things were going to start getting busy, and sleeping through the alarm probably wasn’t the best start to that. Whatever it was, the look the other man wore really didn’t say that the day off was a _good thing_. He offered a smile and reached his hand out to wind around Cullen’s shoulders. This would be the second morning they’d woken up together, despite the interruption, and Dorian actually enjoyed it.

“Well, that’s...a lot better than it could be.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

Dorian resettled them against the pile of pillows, one arm draped around Cullen’s middle with his head on the larger man’s shoulder, and he took a breath. It really wasn’t that early. Ideally he should have been up and working already. Ideally he would have already been in the library for a few hours, and there was a part of him that was excited to do so. That said, Cullen in his bed definitely trumped his research. At least for now. It was preliminary, still needing some sources that hadn’t come in yet, and he had the time to dally while they were sent.

Beside him, Cullen was quiet. The man was always quiet but it was usually this warm kind of quiet. This was just quiet. Cullen’s breathing was steady, even, but Dorian could hear that his heart was pounding a little. More than a little, actually. Then again, having to tell a boss that the reason for being late was ‘oh yeah, I’m just in bed with this guy I’m fucking’ would probably get anyone’s heart rate going. At least Cullen hadn’t been fired. That would have been horrifically awkward.

“Are you hungry?” Cullen asked after a long moment, and Dorian lifted his head to look into those beautiful amber eyes that were staring down at him, “I mean...can I steal you for a little longer so I can take you out for breakfast?”

Surprising.

Dorian was actually speechless for a moment. He hadn’t expected that. He’d half expected a few long kisses, maybe round four quickly before Cullen wanted to head out, and then being left to his own devices. Breakfast? Breakfast actually sounded really nice.

“I think I’d really like that. Only if I can have a shower before we go, though.”

“I think I can wait that long,” Cullen chuckled and leaned in for a quick peck on the lips before Dorian got up and padded toward the bathroom.

\--

Cullen heard the shower before too long, and once he was more or less sure Dorian was in there for a bit he slid down the cushions to cover his face with his hands. Maker help him. He’d been weak. He’d been weak and lonely and hurting and he’d come to Dorian to make it better. To be clear, Dorian did make it better. He made Cullen feel better than he could have ever imagined considering the day he’d had, but the fact remained that he’d gone to _Dorian_ on the back of seeing _Samson_ and Cullen was reasonably sure that was a very not okay thing to do.

Granted, he and Samson weren’t together anymore but that hardly mattered. Cullen knew better than to go to someone while thinking of someone else. It wasn’t fair. Even now, there he was thinking about samson and the fact that the man would find the predicament hilarious. Oh, he could hear the man now.

_“Getting off with that pretty thing and you’re thinking about me? I’m flattered.”_

And he fucking would be too. Flattered. It made Cullen’s skin crawl. It made him feel agitated to the point that he had to get out of bed and pace. Naked and anxious. That was about right, actually. Naked and contemplating his choices. That was also the right of it. He paced the length of the room, feet scuffling on the wood, and rubbed his hands over his arms as he moved.

Dorian. He couldn’t do that to Dorian. He hardly knew Dorian, but he knew the man deserved being treated like that. Dorian was kind, fun, and made Cullen move outside of himself. He was a showoff and completely at ease and it made Cullen feel at ease. Right now? Right now, Cullen didn’t feel at ease. He hadn’t felt at ease yesterday. That was what Samson did.

He took a deep breath. He had to be fair to Dorian. More than that, Cullen needed to be fair with Dorian and himself as a… whatever this was. Friendship with benefits? Pre-relationship? Whatever it was. Coming to him like this was dangerous, though more dangerous for who was a very good question. With the investigation there was every chance he’d have to be around Samson more than just a few hours for an interrogation. Cullen couldn’t do that, not with a good conscience, and come back to Dorian every time. Not like this.

Cullen found himself leaning over Dorian’s desk in the same way he might lean over his own. His arms were braced at the edges, fingers clenched, and he let out a sigh. It was a natural way for him to move when he was out of it. Stressed. Somehow this was comforting. Cullen’s vision cleared and he found himself actually seeing as opposed to being lost in his head and he chuckled for the mess of papers and books the mage had spread across his desk. That actually seemed about right. One hand lifted so he could rub his face and he sighed before he looked down at a stack of what looked to be printed out pictures. Pictures of...documents?

He frowned. Now, Dorian’s research...whatever it was, and Cullen hadn’t really asked, was a mystery to him. He had his own charges, mages under his protection and supervision, but he wasn’t terribly close with them. After… after before, a long time ago, he’d only _just_ been able to look a mage in the face without something bad happening. Things were better now, not perfect, but better.

Sometimes he forgot Dorian was a mage. He didn’t cast anything around Cullen, hadn’t since they’d met, so it was easy to forget. These notes? This research? It hit him like a train. Amber eyes narrowed as he studied one of the pictures, then lifted to look up at the bathroom door. The shower was still running. Dorian would be a little longer. Maker knew Cullen shouldn’t look. He knew better. Dorian wasn’t his charge. Whatever he did was his own business.

Until he recognized the documents.

His documents. Or, rather, the ones Leliana had given him. The ones the task force had. Why would Dorian have what looked be printed pictures of them? Had he taken them that night at Cullen’s? He knew Madame Vivienne worked with Cassandra and Leliana nebulously, had seen her at that little meeting, but there hadn’t been any mention of anyone else. It was strange. Worrisome. Surely Dorian couldn’t be involved. The man was entirely too smart to get wrangled into some lyrium thing.

Then again, he’d thought the same of Samson. Everyone had.

_Maker help me._

He removed himself from the desk, mind whirling over every possible reason for it. Perhaps...maybe Vivienne was outsourcing. That would make sense. The woman had a team of researchers at her disposal. That said, Leliana had made it very clear that their little group didn’t exist and to bring anyone else in without agreement wasn’t an option. Even Madame de Fer would have to agree with that logic. So what, then? Dorian had been on his way out of Kirkwall too. As something else? Someone to watch them?

He’d drive himself insane at this rate, and it was bad enough as it was. Cullen knew he needed to focus. One thing at a time. First, handle what happened last night. Regardless of whatever this situation was with the stuff on his desk Dorian still didn’t deserve being treated like that. Whatever else wasn’t as important. Cullen wasn’t about to come to Dorian with Samson on his mind. That wasn’t okay.

“You alright?” Dorian asked from somewhere behind him. The man was in a pair of boxers and nothing else, and Cullen couldn’t help but let his gaze travel over the expanse of skin. Dorian was so beautiful. There wasn’t anything in the world that matched just how gorgeous he was.

Cullen licked his lips. His mouth suddenly felt dry. Very, very dry. How he would have loved to tackle Dorian back into bed. “Do I not seem alright?” he asked.

“You’re standing there naked with a sour look on your face,” Dorian pointed out, “so no, not really.”

Right. Of course. Cullen took a breath and moved to find his clothes, which he pulled on rather hastily. He left the uniform shirt unbuttoned, but there wasn’t much else he could do. So he’d be a Templar leaving a mage’s personal quarters with bedhead and a smile. Of all the possible things to happen, that actually felt reasonably tame. With Dorian, surely, it actually was one of the more tame things.

When he was dressed he turned to kiss Dorian’s cheek, “Just thinking about work,” Cullen murmured, “it’s been a rough couple of days already.”

“Clearly.”

“But breakfast first,” Cullen offered, “one of the guys at work told me about a place. I think it’ll be really good.”

Dorian smirked, “I’m in your capable hands.”

\--

The place was an honest-to-the-Maker diner. A diner with torn vinyl booths, (fake) chrome accents, and looked like it was made from an old bus. It was...well, it was actually rather quaint. More than that, it was quaint and the food smelled amazing. Even in the parking lot where the cab had dropped them Dorian could make out the scents of eggs and bacon and some kind of pancake situation and his stomach actually rumbled. That seemed to be a running theme with his and Cullen’s mornings, though the other man seemed to just smile and take it in stride. It was an amusing punctuation mark, after all.

Though Cullen’s demeanor had Dorian a little concerned. That phone call would rattle anyone, which wa what he figured on, but he hadn’t seen Cullen so serious since the airport when they’d met. He looked… haunted. Haunted was a good word for it. Haunted and tired in a way that had nothing to do with how late they were up together. Cullen had been on a mission the night before anyway. He’d been passionate, extremely so, and Dorian had almost been concerned for the way he’d practically clung to him. It was nice, but he’d never seen Cullen like that.

While they waited for a seat Dorian couldn’t help but look around. They’d missed the morning rush, which was good, so the only people in other than them were a few older men at the long counter with coffees and pancakes and a booth packed with young women sharing what looked to be a pitcher of mimosas. He grinned, watched them for a moment, and chuckled a bit as he followed Cullen to a booth off to the side. Come to think of it, a mimosa wouldn’t go astray.

“Salty as hell, though,” he heard one of the women mutter as he passed, which only made Dorian chuckle more. These were the types he lived to people-watch on campus.

They sat, a ways off from the others, and Dorian smiled as he picked up the laminated menu. It was brightly colored, offered specials in bubbly fonts, and for whatever reason it made him feel like he was home. Rather, it made him feel like he was in a home he wanted to be in. His actual home wouldn’t have made him feel that way. This was comfortable. He rested the menu on the table with its metallic flecked plastic cover and fake flower in a plastic vase. It was perfect.

“So what are you having, then?” he asked Cullen as he looked over the menu. Dorian could never quite keep his fingers still, and as they were wont to do he couldn’t help but stroke a bit at his mustache as he dithered between a plate of pancakes or an omelet that sounded like it was stuffed with fried potatoes and ham.

The other man was quiet for a long moment, and when Dorian looked up he realized Cullen wasn’t even looking at the menu. He was looking at him. “Cullen?” he prompted again and reached out a hand to rest on the blond’s. That seemed to startle him a bit and he blushed as he looked into Dorian’s face.

“Sorry,” he answered, “just...what did you want?”

Dorian cocked an eyebrow, “I just asked you that,” he pointed out, “you’re a bit out of it this morning.”

A soft laugh came then, and Dorian watched as Cullen’s hand lifted to rub at the back of his neck. He’d seen him do that a fair few times, and had catalogued it as a nervous habit. “I am, yeah,” he agreed, “just...yesterday was a really bad day and then waking up to Cassandra on the phone didn’t help.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened yesterday?” he asked, “or are we going to pretend that you showing up on campus wanting to fuck my brains out is typical?”

“It could be.”

“It’s not.”

“It’s not,” Cullen agreed with a nod, “but I did want to see you. Obviously. We’re, um...dealing with some pretty heavy stuff at the office and when I got done for the day I really wanted to see something good. You.”

Who didn’t like to hear that? Dorian smiled then and squeezed the hand his rested on. “I’m glad I could make you feel better,” he offered, “bad wake up aside.”

Cullen nodded his head, “You really did,” then bit at his lip and lifted his gaze to meet Dorian’s eyes, “but...I have to tell you something about the thing at work. I mean, I technically can’t, but I need to tell you about part of it.”

Well, that was ominous. Dorian blinked, and for whatever reason his heart started to pound. No one ever started a conversation with ‘we need to talk’ or ‘I need to tell you something’ and it was a happy thing. Cullen wasn’t going to say he was being promoted. Maker, was he having to go undercover or something? That was a thing that happened sometimes, wasn’t it? “Okay,” he managed after a moment, “uh, sure. Fire away.”

The hands resting under Dorian’s turned over and Cullen tangled their fingers together. He opened his mouth to speak, which Dorian was eagerly waiting for, but the voice he heard in the moment wasn’t Cullen’s.

“What can I get you boys?”

Waitress. Right. They were supposed to be eating. Dorian actually jumped a bit and looked up at the waitress with a startled expression, then coughed and chuckled. Cullen did much the same. They ordered, though what Dorian asked for he couldn’t remember. Something and coffee. Lots of coffee. Between he and Cullen they could drain a few carafes dry, probably. The man looked like he could use it.

When she was gone, Dorian turned his attention back to Cullen, “Right, okay,” he prompted, “just tell me you’re not being up and sent somewhere else.”

Cullen blinked, “Maker...no!” he replied with a shake of his head, “no, I’m not going anywhere. Not that I know of yet, anyway. Just… um, just that we’re dealing with some things at work. Things I kind of thought I left back in Kirkwall.”

“Things like…”

“Things like… look, do you remember when I met you? And I said I wanted to get out of Kirkwall?”

How could he forget? Dorian nodded, “I always assumed that was the typical reaction for wanting to get out of there.”

A small smile touched those scarred lips, “It is. I mean, of course it is, but… I’d just broken up with someone. Sort of. We’d been apart for a while, but I’d had to go back to get my stuff. That was why I was there.”

Oh, this wasn’t going to end well. Dorian could feel it in his bones. He’d done this before, with the talking about exes, and no one ever talked about them unless it meant he was being left for them. Again. “Uh huh,” he grunted, and smoothed his mustache again with the hand that Cullen wasn’t holding in a vice grip.

“He’s...my ex, he’s been brought in on something,” Cullen began. Dorian noted that Cullen’s gaze was on the table. “And I had to see him. Okay, I had to interrogate him. It… it was a really bad time.”

And again, not at all what Dorian expected. He’d never known any Templar outside the ones he was assigned to. He didn’t know anything about the work outside of checking in on mages, what they had to do, but that sounded almost cruel. Cruel and almost like a conflict of interest, actually.

“So you...saw your ex. Interrogated him. And then you wanted to see me?” Dorian asked, “so I have the timeline of this right.”

Cullen nodded, “He knows how to get to me and make me...you know, make me question everything. I just wanted to be around someone who made me feel like I’m where I should be.” He sounded almost miserable.

That wasn’t the worst sentiment. it could have been worse, he supposed. Dorian knew what it was like to get the ‘hey you’re great but I’m getting back together with my ex’ speech before. This wasn’t that. The way Cullen was gripping his hand didn’t feel like that. “So long as you weren’t thinking about him...ah…”

“During?”

Dorian clapped a hand over his eyes and groaned a little. Hearing that word in Cullen’s soft Fereldan lilt sounded almost dirtier than the things they’d been whispering to each other the whole night before. “Yes...during,” he answered and looked back up at Cullen through his fingers, “Maker help me.”

“It wasn’t,” Cullen answered, “not… not like that. I couldn’t ever think of him like that while we were, uh…”

“I really don’t want to talk about you thinking your ex while we’re having sex,” Dorian pointed out, and Cullen nodded.

“Right. Yes. Of course. I just… I wanted to see you. That was what it was. I felt like shit and wanted to see you and I didn’t want to not tell you the reason why.”

That was at least a good explanation. Cullen hadn’t blown him off. He wasn’t saying he didn’t want to see him again. He was being about as open as anyone Dorian had ever known and that was actually more baffling than anyone else. No one he’d known would have said anything unless it became a problem. Cullen? Good Chantry boy that he was, he didn’t want to make Dorian worry.

Maker help him, too, he enjoyed it.

\--

They ate in relative ease after that, though Cullen still seemed a bit uncomfortable. Admitting something like that had to be difficult, and that was what Dorian was sticking with. Still, while they sat there and ate and drank their coffee Cullen did run his foot along Dorian’s calf. He wouldn’t have pegged Cullen to be someone who would play footsie, but it actually helped his nerves. He was still interested. He wasn’t running.

They’d walked out of the diner hand in hand, kissed, and Dorian promised to come by in a day or two. Dinner. They’d do dinner at Cullen’s and probably end up in the man’s loft. Hopefully it wouldn’t be on the heels of a terrible day, but they’d handle it. Cullen still looked tired and was going home to get himself ready for the next day and Dorian had some things he needed to do.

And he wanted to think. Mostly that.

When he got back there was a note on his desk to meet with Vivienne later. He would. Eventually. First he wanted to take some time to contemplate what had just happened. Dorian had showered before, but he went immediately to draw a bath and sit on the edge while the tub filled. He needed quiet for this. He needed quiet and a long stretch of time to just let his mind wrap around everything.

The water was hot and smelled of clove and orange and Dorian reclined with his head resting on a folded washcloth. This was how he did his best thinking. Actually that wasn’t true. His best thinking was done with a bottle of wine in the bath, but sober was a good second. Something about the quiet and the steam made it easier for him to let his mind wander. He felt comfortable like this.

_Cullen. Cullen Cullen Cullen._

Cullen came to him because he was in a bad way. Cullen came to him because he’d had a run in with his ex. Cullen had a run in with his ex and come to Dorian. He and Dorian had slept together on the heels of that. Then Cullen had talked to him about it like a grown man. He hadn’t hidden it. He’d...they’d talked. A man had come to Dorian with talk of an ex and they hadn’t left with one or both of them angry. That was a novel situation.

Why did it matter? He and Cullen had slept together a few times. They were mutual new people in a town they’d never really been to before. They’d talked a little, liked each other enough to want to spend time together, but did that really equate to anything?

Dorian liked him. Maker, he’d liked him since the moment he’d seen him. Or, at least, he’d been drawn to Cullen. That was why his chest had hurt at the mention of the ex. Had it played out the way Dorian had expected he would have been upset. He would have been upset to lose Cullen’s friendship. How long had it been since that had been the case? How long had it been since he’d cared about anything other than his research?

A very long time. Dorian was oddly alright with that. So he liked Cullen. Cullen was a very busy man, so there wasn’t a lot of chance that anything was going to happen. He was oddly alright with that too.

So he’d finished his bath and dressed. A meeting with Vivienne to discuss his change in focus was a good way to round out the day. It had been a strange one, and Dorian was about ready to tie it up in a nice, odd bow. They would talk, Vivienne would be suitably disappointed that he was changing his focus on his personal stuff, and he could go to bed and wake up tomorrow with hopefully a less strange day.

\--

“Can you tell me, exactly, you want to change your research focus?”

Dorian shrugged and sipped from his tea, “Inspiration came from elsewhere.” Already he felt taller and more confident than he had the last time he’d been in this chair. That had been only a few days ago. In that short of time he’d made his _own_ decision. He was doing what he wanted to do and that feeling of drowning had eased.

Vivienne looked up from his report, “Red lyrium isn’t something many people know about,” she commented, “how did you hear about it.”

“I...there were some whispers,” Dorian answered, “I had a look into some things and I’d be really interested in testing the properties of necromancy on bodies affected from it.”

There was a long pause, one where Vivienne just studied his face. She wasn’t reading his report anymore. She was watching him. The woman was more intimidating than his mother, if Dorian were to be honest, and it was a little disconcerting. He shifted in his seat, stirred his tea, and licked his lips. No one was saying anything, and just the sound of the ticking clock was starting to grate on his nerves. He’d been confident. Had been. Now?

Now he kind of wished he’d waited.

“If you’re really interested in this, darling, I suggest you do more than try to consult books,” Vivienne commented, “because you won’t find anything. Not really.”

“I’ve called in for some things-”

“And you’ll learn about normal lyrium. This is something altogether different, and I’m actually quite concerned that you’d be interested in this.”

Dorian blinked, “I...if this is something new then someone needs to study this-”

She held up a hand, “if you’re serious about this, Master Pavus, truly? I need to make some arrangements. Are you willing to commit to it?”

Odd question. Very odd question. He was hardly looking into acts of possession, after all.

“Dorian?”

“I am, ma’am, of course,” he answered, “I’m just concerned that you’re concerned.”

“I think I’d like to work with one of my assistants on this,” Vivienne mused, “and if you manage to handle this as well as you do on my projects? I think we can make this work.” She got to her feet then and gestured for Dorian to go, which made him stand and cock an eyebrow.

“I don’t think I understand.”

“I need to get in contact with Seeker Pentaghast on your behalf if this is something you want to pursue.”

_ Shit. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry this went on a bit of a hiatus. Fallout 4 happened and I wanted to take some time to enjoy that and let the big stories marinate for a while. But we're back and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Come find me on tumblr! @sallyamongpoison


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the true nature of their cause is revealed, and Dorian and Cullen make an amusing discovery.

Coming back to the office was, predictably, difficult. Cullen knew he’d have some eyes on him, ones judging that he’d missed a day and Cassandra had probably been calling him for longer than even he’d realized when he’d woken at Dorian’s, but he wasn’t quite prepared for the note on his office door in the Seeker’s utilitarian print saying _my office first thing._

His stomach had wound itself in knots already, not at all helped by the strong coffee he’d had before leaving the house, and by the time he got to Cassandra’s door Cullen was trying to plan out a list of reasons why she shouldn’t fire him. Maybe she wouldn’t, since she hadn’t sounded _that_ angry the day before. More concerned, actually, which was a notion Cullen wasn’t quite ready for. Meredith hadn’t ever really been ‘concerned’ about them as people. She’d understood his situation when he transferred, but personal things never really came before her own agenda. Clearly. Cassandra’s interest in both his personal life and what was going on at work was almost novel.

Cullen knocked on her door, waited for the authoritative ‘come’ and pushed inside, “I saw the note.”

She looked up from her paperwork, regarded him for a moment, then waved him in, “Close the door,” Cassandra instructed before she folded her arms and leaned a bit more against the desk, “how is today? Any better?”

When he took a seat in one of the chairs before the Seeker’s desk Cullen made a bit of a face. He knew that was coming. He’d expected it. He just hated that he’d be asked out loud and in person. “Better,” he agreed with a nod, “I... I didn’t realize it was going to be that difficult.”

“I don’t think any of us did,” Cassandra agreed, “and I apologize. Things like this are hard enough to hear about, let alone have a hand in.”

Cullen shrugged, “I think I’ll be alright, though,” he offered, “I kind of, um, did what I needed to do.”

That made Cassandra smile, as much as she ever did, and nod, “This is why I wanted you here,” she told him, “you see a problem and you handle it. There aren’t many who could say as much about having to sit in an interrogation room with their… former.”

“And how is he?” Cullen asked, glad for a change (partially) of subject, “cooperating?”

Her smile fell a little then, “Somewhat,” and Cassandra turned to her computer to type up a quick something, click a few times, and then turn back as an unseen printer began to stir. “He’s given us a few names of people he’s dealt with,” she explained, “but nothing concrete one way or the other to the charges we’ve brought him in on. Which is fine for him now, of course, but should we let him go and it come out that there’s more to it-”

“I’ll handle it,” Cullen stated, “just...get him here and I’ll handle it.”

“He wouldn’t talk to anyone,” Cassandra went on, “so...yes. Do what you can.”

\--

“Back from vacation?”

Cullen rolled his eyes as he took the few steps from the door and to the table Samson was currently handcuffed to. It wasn’t quite like it had been the first day, a few days ago, which had felt like it had been lifetimes. His hands were still cuffed, though with a bit more mobility and not completely to the chair. That had mean some good behavior, at least. That was good.

“Why? Did you miss me?” Cullen asked as he grabbed the chair and put it not all the way across from the other man but at the side edge of the table so they were almost sitting beside each other. He didn’t have any paperwork, though he’d looked over what Cassandra had printed for him. The names Samson gave didn’t ring too many bells save one they’d picked up for dealing before. “We need to have a serious conversation now,” he stated, “and I need you to listen to me.”

That made Samson roll his eyes, “You come back after leaving me with those idiots and think I feel like talking?” he asked, “fucking typical. What if I told you I didn’t have anything to say?”

“You’d be lying, one, and I’m talking now for two,” Cullen said, “so shut up.”

That actually worked. Samson stared with red rimmed eyes and watched him. His already pale face was drawn and sweaty, which meant he wasn’t getting any lyrium here. Of course he wasn’t. And whatever had been in his system was currently on the way out. He was detoxing in a prison cell, and the thought only made Cullen’s stomach clench a _little_.

“You need to tell me what in the Maker’s _name_ is going on with the lyrium buying,” Cullen told him, “because I know you’re in it. You have to be to get it.” He took a breath then, “you want me to do something better than all this?” he asked, “then you need to let me help you. Because if you don’t give them anything and someone finds something to pin on you it’s over. _Done_.”

“Why the fuck do you care?” Samson asked, “it’s probably better for you that I’m locked up, right? Not so tempting that way.”

“That’s not true and you know it.”

Amber eyes met red ones. Actually red. Cullen couldn’t hardly see the blue they normally were for how puffy and swollen they were. It hurt. it hurt him because he remembered what it was like to lie on the couch in that shitty hotel room and come down off something with no help. Sure, he hated Samson a little bit. Sure, the man was frustrating and an unhelpful dick a lot of the time. Cullen had cared, though. Still cared. He couldn’t help it.

“Tell me something they can use, alright?” Cullen asked, “I know you hate the Order, and I get it, but...I swear it’s not what you think.” He leaned in a little closer so he was more in Samson’s space. It was...intimate. Cullen hadn’t been in his space like that in a long time. “I’m trying to do something _better_ and I need your help. Okay?”

There was a long pause, one where Cullen could see Samson’s jaw working as he thought, and Cullen moved in to rest a hand on one of Samson’s chained wrists. They were raw and red, probably from struggling, and Cullen frowned. He could only imagine what Samson had been doing since the other day. If he fought them or argued or anything else was his best guess, but he also knew he was the only one who could get the idiot to talk.

“You’ve certainly changed your tune since the other day,” Samson pointed out, “why?”

He searched those red rimmed eyes for a long moment and brushed his thumb along the top of Samson’s hand, “because I came here to do something better, and...you’re not wrong, alright?”

A slow grin spread across the other man’s face, “Maker knows it took you long enough,” Samson pointed out, “gimme some paper and a pen and I’ll give you names,” he told Cullen before he paused, “but you’re gonna make sure I get some kind of something for this.”

Cullen rolled his eyes, “Like what?” he asked, “immunity?”

“And a proper lyrium prescription,” Samson answered, “from the Order.”

“That’s asking a lot. You better give them something better than names,” Cullen pointed out.

Samson studied Cullen’s face for a long moment. They were sitting incredibly close now and Cullen was still touching his cold hands. Maker, he hadn’t realized how cold Samson’s hands were. It wact actually hard to keep himself from leaning in like he would have done a few months ago. Before they would have leaned in and kissed, though it probably wouldn’t be terribly sweet. It would have been perfunctory. Expected.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, you know,” Samson murmured, “someone had my name. I thought it was you.”

He shook his head, “You think I’d do that? Make you...disappear?”

“No,” Samson answered, “but it would’ve been easier if it was you. Maybe. I don’t know. I’m still kind of pissed off at you for leaving.”

Cullen sighed, “We’re not talking about this now,” and leaned down so he could look into Samson’s face, “alright? We’ll talk about what’s going to keep you out of a cell and then maybe when you’re not in handcuffs we’ll talk about that.”

Another pause, “Yeah, alright. Fine,” Samson agreed, “just get me that pen and paper. I’ll tell the Seeker what she wants to know.”

There. At least he’d achieved that much. It wasn’t quite the way he’d wanted to do it, but it was done. That was more important than anything else. He could go back to Cassandra with something more to make up for the day before and hopefully do something that was better than just freaking out and running away. He _needed_ that more for himself than anyone else.  

She seemed pleased. Or, at least, as pleased as Cassandra ever was. Samson’s hand was shaky and so messy it was almost backwards. The truth of it was that Cullen had to read it aloud and would probably be the one to file it so he could actually translate. Many years of decoding grocery lists and watch notes came in handy, after all. It was more than just names. It was names, a location, and a time. A drop of some kind. Samson hadn’t mentioned many details though he looked guilty as anything for it.

_You need to promise me something, Rutherford, alright?_

_I’m not making any promises for the Order to you, you know that._

_I don’t mean like that. I mean...you know, something for me. Just between us._

_What?_

_The red stuff-_

_So you do know about-_

_Listen to me! Don’t touch it. Don’t...you stay away from it, alright? Let them do what they’re going to do, but don’t you get anywhere near it. For me, Cullen, okay? Please._

He’d gone quiet after that and handed the page over, which Cullen took to Cassandra. He’d also...neglected to mention that part of the conversation. If pressed he could say it slipped his mind. Whatever it was, if it was another ploy to get Cullen’s attention or push his buttons, Cullen knew sincerity in Samson when he saw it. He’d been sincere. Guilty. _Scared._ So he’d promised.

Whatever it meant, Cullen had promised him.

“Write this up and we’ll talk about it later,” Cassandra told him, “whatever it is he wants, provided he cooperates and his information is good, I’ll deal with it.”

“Not a lyrium prescription,” Cullen replied, “he can’t. He’s already detoxing and...it’ll do him good to get off of it.”

“That’s not your decision to make,” she pointed out, “he’ll see someone in the clinic and they’ll decide.”

“Cassandra, you _can’t_ give it to him-”

“I appreciate your concern, Knight Commander, but now’s not the time to talk about,” Cassandra stated. There was a finality in her tone, the end of the conversation, and Cullen frowned in the doorway to her office. She looked more annoyed than usual.

He bristled, “Ma’am,” and saluted before he took a breath, “did you need anything else?”

“I have an appointment with Vivienne de Fer,” she explained, “any...further developments can wait until I come back. Apparently there’s a mage in her employ that I need to speak to.”

As if the day couldn’t get any worse. Cullen wiped his face of any emotion, interest or otherwise, and nodded. He had a feeling he knew what this would be about and he wasn’t about to put himself next to someone being questioned. Of course, it could be almost anything, since Vivienne was part of their little… nonexistent task force, but Cullen knew better. His gut knew better.

_Shit. Shit shit shit. Call Dorian- DON’T call Dorian. Ask him about it later. If anything happens, you’ll know about it one way or the other. Don’t look concerned. Just get out of there._

“I’ll keep an eye on things,” Cullen promised with a nod, then turned and made his way to his office to, presumably, work on this thing of Samson’s.

_Maker help me, not again._

\--

Vivienne had summoned him just as quickly as she’d dismissed him. Dorian figured that was much in her nature, but today that meant she wouldn’t be alone. He’d never talked to a real Seeker before. Maker help him, until he came South he’d never really spoken with a proper Templar either. for Vivienne to have set this up? What had he done? He’d been...it was _her_ research! What would have been worse: admitting to sneaking around in her office or whatever it was they wanted to know about?

Both.

Admitting to either one, especially the second because he had no real idea other than he was interested, was going to be embarrassing. The difference, however, was one was akin to being chastised by his mother and the other was possible...whatever it was that Seekers did. Surely there wasn’t anything wrong with being _curious_ , after all. How else were people going to learn?

He’d dressed for the occasion. It wasn’t anything terribly out of place to meet Vivienne, surely, but he’d taken a bit more care. Dorian was under no assumptions this was a sociable call, nor was it any less than an interrogation. He knew better. Whatever the red lyrium was, whatever it did outside of what little he’d read, must be serious. To, apparently, _crystallize_ someone it was bad news. All the more reason to study it, and that was the story he was sticking to. Hopefully.

“Dorian, darling, this is Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. She runs the office in the city,” Vivienne stated and gestured to a chair across from them both. It looked not unlike a job interview, honestly.

He shook the other woman’s hand. Seeker Pentaghast was a severe looking sort, Dorian noted immediately. Her features were beautiful but harsh, no nonsense, and when she looked at him Dorian could almost feel her searching all the way down to his soul. Sometimes that was nice. With Cullen it was nice, but with this woman? All Dorian felt was fear, irrational or otherwise. Somehow it felt like he was meant to confess his sins. If that were the case then they’d certainly be there for a while.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dorian,” Cassandra told him as they settled, “Vivienne’s been telling me about your...research, though I won’t pretend I understand it.”

He managed a chuckle and accepted a cup of tea from the porter who offered him a cup and saucer, “So long as people are talking,” Dorian joked lightly and quickly added some sugar to his tea. He needed more to do with his hands and stirring would certainly help. “I must admit, I’m not terribly sure why we’re here chatting,” he went on, “I was under the impression a Seeker didn’t come around unless there was trouble.”

Cassandra and Vivienne shared a look then, “I’m told you came from Kirkwall, yes?” Cassandra asked, “recently?”

“I was staying there while I… got myself together, yes,” Dorian answered.

“Why Kirkwall, if you don’t mind me asking. That’s quite a way from Minrathous, is it not?”

He could feel himself blushing. It wasn’t embarrassment, not really, but more...under duress. Normally he would make some prodding joke, a quip laced with acid to keep people at a distance, but he couldn’t exactly do that at the moment. He had to be truthful, or as truthful as possible, and the knowledge of as much made him feel not unlike being marched into his father’s study by his nanny or his mother to admit to some childhood wrongdoing. Or, Maker forbid, when he’d been summoned to the Head of the Circle in Carastes at ten to be thrown out. Cassandra had the same eyes as that woman had.

Dorian took a breath, “It was a good halfway point,” and sipped his tea, “though I wasn’t quite sure where I was going. It just sort of felt right for a few months while I figured out what I wanted to do.”

“Kirkwall is known for that,” Cassandra agreed with a nod, “what did you do while you lived there? Did you work?”

“I consulted on a few projects for a local magical library,” Dorian answered, “and worked with a resident Mortalitasi in Lowtown. Nothing untoward, really. I had a Templar there and everything.” He bit at his lip, “you can contact him if there’s anything you need to know. He was...your usual Kirkwall type.”

That earned a bit of a laugh all round, which made him smile awkwardly. Dorian sipped his tea again and fought the urge to fidget. It was bad enough under Vivienne’s gaze, which was boring a hole between his eyebrows for the moment, but to be so closely scrutinized by Cassandra as well was… off putting, to say the least. It made him feel like he really had done something wrong, despite the run of the mill questions that his Templar had even asked when they’d met the first time.

Cassandra was quiet for a long moment then, stirred her tea and contemplated it, before she looked up to meet Dorian’s gaze, “while you were there did you use lyrium, Dorian?” she asked, “for...any spellwork you did? Perhaps with the Mortalitasi?”

He shook his head, “No, ma’am,” and sipped his tea again, “I really was just there to get my head on straight. I...it’s a very strained situation with my family, and I needed to get away from them. Kirkwall was about as far away as I could get on what money I had, so...I stayed there to work for a while.”

“You’re not close to your family?” Cassandra asked.

“No,” Dorian replied. His voice was a touch more curt now. “They don’t really approve,” he explained, “of much of anything beyond a Magisterium seat.”

“Ah.”

More silence.

“Dorian’s been interested in the red lyrium,” Vivienne supplied, “he’s made some inquiries and wants to study its effects on the dead.”

“Do you?” Cassandra asked, “And where might you have heard about red lyrium, Dorian? Somewhere in Kirkwall?”

He blinked. That’s what this was about. Completely. He knew it. Of course it was. “No,” Dorian answered, “here. There were...murmurs.” He was lying. They’d know he was lying. “I’d heard some whispers. Something about crystals. I filled in a bit on my own and wanted to know more.”

“Documents on red lyrium aren’t public knowledge, my dear,” Vivienne pointed out, “so you need to tell us who you heard it from, if you can remember. It might be useful to Seeker Pentaghast’s investigations.”

_Fuck. Shit. Maker’s bloody arse._ “Nowhere in particular,” he went on and sat up a bit straighter, “I...went to put one of my reports on your secretary’s desk. I probably saw something about it there and didn’t realize.”

Again, Cassandra and Vivienne shared a quick look between them and Cassandra leaned in a little, “red lyrium is a very serious thing, Master Pavus. Wanting to study it could possibly be very dangerous.”

“Danger’s never concerned me, ma’am,” Dorian pointed out, then winced. _Why don’t you just say it’s your middle name for how stupid that sounds._

Cassandra studied him for a long few moments, then turned back to Vivienne, “I’m satisfied,” she told her, “you can discuss it with him. A message with time and place should come through tonight. We’ve just, ah, had a breakthrough with our person of interest.”

“Ah, your man came through?” Vivienne asked, “good. I was a bit worried that he looked a bit...shaken the last time.”

“Hardly,” Cassandra replied and got to her feet before she turned to shake Dorian’s hand, “it was good to meet you, Dorian. I think you’re the last person we needed to make our little group complete.”

“Group?”

“Vivienne will tell you more,” she answered, “but I should be heading back.”

_To work. To the office. To the office-oh shit. Cassandra Pentaghast. She would have been the one calling Cullen’s phone yesterday morning._

“It was good to meet you,” Dorian agreed, though his voice came out a bit more robotic than he’d wanted to.

Just what was going _on_?

\--

He’d been awake for almost twenty-four hours. It made his head fuzzy and ache like he hadn’t known since coming off the lyrium, and all Cullen wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep until the sick feeling left him. Sleep, however, was a long way off. He’d been back and forth with Leliana, via a chain of proxy email accounts and whatever else it was that her people needed to do, to figure out this thing of Samson’s and the implications...weren’t good. Late into the night, back home and on his own laptop on the couch after more mugs of coffee than he was comfortable admitting, and the truth came out: the names he gave were aliases. Whether or not it was on purpose to protect them or protect himself, the names Samson had given weren’t really names at all, save for one or two small time dealers Cullen suspected were thrown in to make the list seem legitimate. Leliana’s people had been on it for hours, back and forth, and it weighed on him.

Templars. They were Templars.

Templars doing...whatever this was. Leliana had one of her best on the way to make the date and time Samson had given them, but until they knew what exactly the situation was those names were only serving to make Cullen feel ill. Templars involved in this red lyrium distribution? That would explain Meredith, of course, but others?

It was late. Scratch that, it was so late it was early and he still had a whole day ahead and a meeting that night. Cassandra would see the findings, see the names, and they’d share a look over the day’s briefing that would be equal parts disappointed and scared. None of the names were from their office, not yet, though Leliana’s people had sent lists of known contacts and previous employment and Maker help them all, it was a tangled web that Cullen’s mind couldn’t quite handle. He was so tired. Maybe that was the problem.

_Can I see you tonight?_

He sent the message to Dorian’s phone partially in the hopes that the other man would be awake, or wake up, so that he could share some of the misery. It didn’t much help, though. So instead he got to his feet after what felt like hours to stretch and shower. The hot water helped soothe muscles that were stiff from being hunched over paperwork, but only just. His body felt as tangled as his mind did. Nothing about this felt good.

_I have a meeting later. After? I’ll bring wine and food if you let me stay the night._

Dorian’s message came on the heels of a picture of just his hair poking out from under some blankets. It made Cullen chuckle. Of course Dorian would stay. That, and food and alcohol sounded exactly like what he needed. Well, and the company. Curling up with his head on Dorian’s chest, after sex or not, was probably at equal desire with wanting to just go to bed and sleep. The message was good, the picture made him laugh when he felt reasonably shitty, and it was almost like a normal day. Maker help him, but Dorian made him feel at least somewhat normal again.

In a very uncharacteristic moment, Cullen snapped a picture of himself with a cup of coffee and sent it sans caption, though followed it with _this is what you’ll be seeing tomorrow morning then_. Perhaps it was stupid, but after the day(s) he’d had something fun was sorely needed. Something good. Dorian. They would spend the evening together and Cullen would push work out of his head for a few hours. That was what he needed.

_Gorgeous. Have a good day, alright? I’ll call you when I’m on my way tonight._

That message had kept him for the day. It padded out the personal armor Cullen needed to go through the motions of a regular shift where he had to pretend there wasn’t something horrible happening within the Order. He’d signed off on Samson going to the clinic, not that he was happy about it, and managed to get through the day relatively unscathed. Shaking from too much coffee, sure, but unscathed. The knowledge of a good night on the way certainly helped.

Now to get through the meeting. Not that they ever lasted long, since having everyone in one place wasn’t really feasible. As it was, a few of their number were already en route to Kirkwall to investigate Samson’s claims. These never lasted long, only long enough for everyone to be on the same page, which Cullen was glad for tonight. Cassandra had already been in a mood since he’d sent her the list of names and that horrible, tangled document. It wasn’t going to be a fun night.

Cullen stepped into the bar, eyes downcast as he made for the long table at the back. A drink would have been good, but for as tired as he was there was no way he’d manage to get through a beer and make it out of this awake. A few murmurs of greeting hit him and he looked up to meet them before-

_This is a dream._

Very familiar looking grey eyes were staring at him with the same expression. There was less fatigue, but the same mixture of surprise and concern. Dorian. There. Sitting with Vivienne.

_This is a dream. Wake up, Cullen. Wake up before you miss out on something important._

“And here’s our last,” Leliana stated as Cullen gaped in the doorway, “thank you for coming on such short notice, but we couldn’t wait anymore.”

He was staring. He was staring between Leliana and Dorian. Dorian was there. This wasn’t a dream. _I have a meeting tonight._ That… this was the meeting. Suddenly, everything made a lot more sense. So much sense that Cullen could have cried. The lyrium notes on Dorian’s desk, Cassandra meeting with one of Vivienne’s students...Maker help him. This wasn’t a repeat of what had happened with Samson. This wasn’t another sad story of him getting mixed up with the wrong person at the wrong time.

Even better was that he wasn’t going to be linked to someone _else_ who might be hauled in on charges.

“We have reason to believe there is corruption in the Templar Order,” Cassandra stated. It was direct, as it always was, but the tone was… was that sadness? No. Disappointment. Yeah, Cullen felt it too. He sighed and wiped a hand over his face before dropping himself in the nearest chair. It wasn’t near Dorian, but he would manage. They’d square with that...later, if that was still happening.

“Raleigh Samson has alerted us to members of the Order linked to a time and location that Varric and a few of Leliana’s people have scouted. From what they’ve sent back so far it seems as though it’s a shipment of red lyrium,” Cassandra went on, “currently Varric is finding out where it came from, but we’re meant to keep an eye on where it goes.”

“They’ll be bringing some back to study, yes?” Vivienne asked, “since I assume this shipment is meant to be bought by someone?”

Cassandra nodded, “Right,” and turned to look at Cullen for a long moment, “we must see how far this goes.”

He jumped a bit as he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. A quick glance to the side showed Dorian gently placing his phone down and picking up the beer in front of him for a sip. It wouldn’t do to check while Cassandra was talking, important as it was, but he couldn’t quite help it. There was a part of him still wondering if he’d fallen asleep at his desk at work and this was some sort of stress dream. It honestly wouldn’t have surprised him. Cullen sli the phone from his pocket and flicked the screen open, but couldn’t quite help the smile that bled across his features.

_We can share a cab back to yours ;)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so begins the actual plot. I knew we'd get here eventually!
> 
> Come find me on tumblr! @sallyamongpoison


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the nature of their mission is given some clarity, and Cullen and Dorian become aware of some nasty side effects of red lyrium

“Your  _ ex _ is a person of interest in an international….case.”

“Yes.”

“Your  _ ex _ , who you told me you saw before you came to me, is the one in all these files about lyrium smuggling.”

A sigh, “Yes.”

“You had to  _ interrogate _ your  _ ex- boyfriend _ for the Order.”

“Really not helping right now, you know.”

Dorian was sitting at Cullen’s table, which was covered in all manner of papers and files and coffee mugs, with his legs curled up under him. He was leaned against the surface on his elbows, grey eyes tracking Cullen as he unpacked the bag of takeout they’d picked up on the way home. He looked almost childlike, save for the expression on his face. He looked expectant, in slight disbelief, and slightly amused.

“You could pretty much be the hero of some cop drama, you know that?” Dorian asked him, tone only half playful, “why didn’t you  _ say _ something? Maker, no  _ wonder _ you came looking for me after all that.”

“Okay,” Cullen replied as he turned to look over at Dorian, “ _ really _ really not helping now.”

Bauble covered hands lifted in surrender and Dorian shook his head, “Sorry,” he apologized, “I just...that’s insane. I mean, when you told me I  _ heard _ you. I did, I really did, but I didn’t get it. Now I  _ get _ it.”

“Do you?” the Templar asked as he dropped their plates off and took a seat, “because you seemed pretty okay with it then too.”

Dorian let out a puff of air and lowered his feet so he could lean across the table and kiss Cullen’s lips, “I was. I  _ am _ . It just didn’t really hit me that they’d really do that to you. Not that I thought you were lying, but...I mean, you don’t hear about that kind of thing in real life, you know?”

There was a moment where Cullen closed his eyes against Dorian’s lips before he lifted a hand to cup his face, “They knew who could get him to talk,” he explained, “but you’re already in enough trouble with me, anyway. I legitimately thought I was going to have a heart attack when I saw that stuff about the red lyrium in your room. I’m actually amazed I could have a conversation after that.”

“You were snooping in my room?”

“In that it was all over your desk and I was trying very hard  _ not _ to look,” Cullen explained, “maybe. Not intentionally.”

There was a beat of silence as Dorian picked up his fork to move some things around on his plate. He didn’t take a bite, not yet, but instead contemplated what that meant as he considered the plate of noodles in spicy sauce. Cullen wouldn’t look through his things, Dorian knew that well enough. He’d done no more to Dorian than Dorian had done to Vivienne and now look where they all were. They were working. Together. Technically, in all of this insane connectedness, he and Cullen were co-workers. The man he’d met in an airport in Kirkwall who looked half ready to have a nervous breakdown, the man Dorian had met afterward and spent more than a couple satisfying nights with, was now working on the same project as himself in a roundabout fashion. They’d even mirrored each other in finding out  _ how _ . Sort of. 

Dorian shook his head and chuckled in a way that was slightly more sigh than laugh, “I was wrong,” he amended, “this isn’t a cop drama. It’s a fucking romantic comedy.”

There was a snort across the table, and grey eyes lifted to watch Cullen sputter into the glass of wine he’ been sipping before he coughed and started laughing. That, right there, was a signature rom-com move, and for whatever reason Dorian felt it all the way down to his toes. It was...Maker, it was sweet. Funny. When Cullen recovered he set the glass down and looked over at him. “I’m hardly the floppy haired love interest, thanks,” he pointed out, “and you’re only mostly the quirky main character. Something about having more personality than just ‘I sit in museums ironically because I’m against the entrapment of art’ or whatever.”

“What movies are  _ you _ watching?” Dorian asked with a much similar laugh before he tucked into his food in earnest. When they talked like that Cullen only half looked like the exhausted shell he’d been the last few days, and there was something about the crinkle around his eyes that happened when he laughed that set Dorian’s heart aflutter. Actually aflutter, not just playful speech.

They chatted as they ate, commented on the very improbable movie of their lives, before the conversation slowed a little and the only sounds coming from them were that of forks against plates and the occasional sip from a glass. They hadn’t touched on the meeting, nor the fact that Dorian had mysteriously shown up at it, and when they’d left together Cullen had just slipped his hand into Dorian’s on the way to a cab. No more, no less. That was actually fine with him. Now that they’d had some time, though, Dorian was curious.

He set his fork down and wiped at his lips, smoothed his mustache, and took a breath, “So tell me about the interrogation. With Raleigh.”

“Samson.”

“With Samson.”

Cullen stiffened a little, eyes still on his plate, and shrugged. Dorian wasn’t about to ask about the distinction between the names. That was...well, if Cullen wanted to tell him he would. he wasn’t the type to ask about past relationships, partly because his own weren’t exactly the best. Not disasters, but none had ended terribly amicably and Dorian would never ask questions he wouldn’t want to answer himself. Simple courtesy. Watching Cullen mull it over, too, was more than enough indication that it wouldn’t be welcome anyway.

“I had to ask him about who he was buying from,” Cullen answered after a long pause, “your usual kind of thing. Lyrium without a prescription’s a big offense and it’s a good place to start to know who’s selling it. Dealing it. Getting it. All that.”

Dorian nodded, “And they had you do it because…?”

“Partly because they knew he’d talk to me, which he didn’t until I made him, but partly so it would clear my name,” he replied before taking another drink of wine, “we lived together. My name would have come up. As it is, I’m sure Cassandra will have to question me as a routine check of known associates.”

It sounded so clinical like that. Cullen’s voice was flat, just answering the questions, and he didn’t even look up. “Okay, but,” Dorian began and moved his plate a bit so he could reach over and cover Cullen’s wrist with his hand, “I don’t mean like what it was about. I’ve got the files and everything now, Vivienne made me copies, and I can read from that. I mean more like are you okay after having to do that. It was obviously rough, considering you came looking for me after.”

“Yeah, it really fucking was,” Cullen answered immediately. His tone was still rather flat, but there was a rough edge to it. “And I don’t know if I’m okay. I mean, I am. Now, I am. It was a fucking mess the first time and I was sure Cassandra was going to pull me off of the case because I couldn’t handle it.”

Again, Dorian nodded. He wasn’t sure how to follow that. Pushing too much about what had happened might upset Cullen, might make him close off and ruin the rest of the night, but Dorian was interested.  _ Concerned _ . “Well, you could,” he pointed out, “there’s not a lot of people who could look their ex in the face across an interrogation room and not lose it.”

Cullen scoffed then, “Except he knows all the ways to get my hackles up,” he practically spat as he poked a bit more at the food left on his plate, “and does. I know he does. It’s why I had to tell you. I’m not...I’m not so completely over how it all ended, and then having to see him so soon after I left made me wonder what I’m even doing.”

“You ended it right before we met,” Dorian ventured slowly, “in Kirkwall.”

There was another pause and Cullen nodded, “Pretty much when he dropped me off at the airport, yeah. Officially. I hadn’t seen him in two months before I went back to get my stuff.”

Some quick math and thinking back filled Dorian’s head. If he had the timeline right that would mean he and Cullen had slept together maybe a month after he’d been officially single. Normally that wouldn’t bother him. A lot could happen in a month, but he’d be lying if he said that didn’t concern him a little. “Did he bring it up?”

“In the interrogation?” Cullen asked, then scoffed again, “Yeah, he did. It’s on a tape somewhere that I actually acknowledged it too.”

“That’s-”

“I don’t really want to talk about Samson anymore, Dorian, okay?” Cullen snapped before he lifted his head to meet Dorian’s eyes. The man looked completely exhausted all over again and Dorian just nodded in response before he got to his feet to clean up the plates. He stopped when he leaned over Cullen and just kissed the top of his head. The man smelled like generic shampoo and something earthy under it, and Dorian just took a moment to breathe it in before he headed for the kitchen to clean up.

A few minutes later, as Dorian set the now clean plates in the drying rack beside the sink, arms wrapped around his waist and Cullen pressed himself against Dorian’s back. Neither said anything, and Dorian just rested a hand over where Cullen’s were clasped together over his belt, before he turned and kissed Cullen’s cheek. Whatever it was, an apology for that quick snip or otherwise, was nice. Dorian liked that they hadn’t been left to just marinate on the conversation. Cullen rested his head on Dorian’s shoulder and didn’t move. They didn’t kiss, didn’t talk, but just stood there for a long time until they moved to stretch out on the couch with a movie on.

\--

_ We’ll be taking tea in the Astrarium Gallery at 10. Come prepared please. - Mdme. Vivienne _

That was a new one. Normally they took tea in her private salon when it was his normal, weekly progress meeting. This...wasn’t that. It wasn’t the right day, nor did Vivienne ever send him a message like that to prompt him. Something else. Something to do with that same group he’d gone to the meeting for. Vivienne had told him most, if not all, of their dealings were strictly off the record. They were a group of rogue misfits trying to change the world for the better, and those always had to meet away from prying eyes or where anyone might notice their congregation. Vivienne would be taking tea and he would happen to wander past at the right moment, just like he happened to be at the Rest when everyone else showed up. It was all very cloak and dagger. Thrilling.

Dorian didn’t quite know what to expect, so he’d put both his notes for Vivienne’s personal matters in his bag as well as his own. That was probably just for posterity, he had a feeling, but he wasn’t going to be caught unawares regardless. He set off to get there a few minutes early, as was usually expected, and when he turned the corner to a more private area of the gallery Dorian couldn’t help but stumble a bit in his tracks. Madame Vivienne was there, as promised, and seated at a small table with a few pots of tea and cups set out but she wasn’t alone. 

Seated on the other side of the table was Seeker Pentaghast and...Cullen. There. Waiting for him. Dorian didn’t quite know what to do. He smoothed his hair, took a breath, and so hoped this wasn’t to do with their relationship. Or, rather, lack of one. Whatever it was. They hadn’t really been stealthy about going to find a cab together the other night, at the last meeting, and he wondered if maybe it was something frowned upon. That had never been outlined, though.

“Ah, wonderful,” Vivienne crooned as Dorian moved closer, “you remember Cassandra, Dorian, yes? And Knight Commander Cullen?”

He nodded politely, though the moment amber eyes met grey ones Dorian couldn’t help but feel a blush start in his cheeks. Cullen’s, too, pinked just a little and almost as if on cue they suddenly looked away from each other. “Of course,” he answered as he took the seat at Vivienne’s left and settled himself, “fancy meeting you both here.”

Cassandra was stirring her tea, intense hazel eyes focused on the cup, “We were in the area and thought we might pay Madame Vivienne a visit.”

“How lovely for us,” Dorian commented a he poured himself a cup of tea and settled back.

Vivienne sat, straight and proper as ever, and regarded the three of them. The woman was a fine example of a mage, and with Cassandra seated beside her their differences only became more apparent, though Dorian rather liked the comparison. Regardless of Aquinea’s cruelty, Dorian had always found strong, powerful women to be admirable. Both Cassandra and Vivienne were the best in their fields, and seeing them working their roles made him feel equal parts protected and fearful. He knew Vivienne would defend him to the best of her abilities should he need it, and he was seeing that Cassandra bore the same kind of air. That said, they were both intimidating as anything he’d ever seen and sitting with them both made him feel a bit like he was one trial.

“And look, my favorite Seeker’s come to pay a visit too,” came a voice from where Dorian had just entered. Low. Male. Rough. Not rough like Cullen’s, but rogueish and playful. 

Enter Varric Tethras. Dorian hadn’t met the dwarf, though he’d heard of him in the last week. He’d been gone from their last meeting, on assignment, and thrill of thrills he was there now. Cassandra, despite trying to appear impassive, grunted a low “ugh” and gripped at her teacup that much tighter. “Must you always be like that?” she deadpanned as the dwarf practically draped himself in the last open chair and happily poured himself some tea. It was like he hadn’t even heard her.

“Now, now,” Varric tease before he held out a wide hand to Dorian, “I hear you’re the one I’m supposed to be talking to today. Varric Tethras: your Merchant Guild contact and resident expert on most things lyrium.”

Ah. So that’s what this was about.

“Could you  _ be _ any more obvious, Varric, or are you just trying to annoy me?” Cassandra asked, “we didn’t have to set it up this way, you know.”

The dwarf shrugged and sipped from the very delicate looking porcelain cup that somehow managed to look small in his hands. He was so...effortlessly cool, even in a way Dorian wasn’t. Ginger hair was pulled back in a bun, sunglasses parked on the top of his head, and he wore a vest that left little of his chest, or chest  _ hair, _ to the imagination. Somehow, even, it worked for him. It was amazing. “The best way to be sneaky is to be as open as possible, Seeker, you know that,” he pointed out and flashed a grin, “you’re the Tevinter Necromancer, I hear.”

“I don’t know that I’ve ever been called that,” Dorian answered with a chuckle, “but I guess so.”

“Better ‘necromancer’ than ‘magister’ so I hear. Or is that me being offensive again?” Varric went on, “something like that anyway.”

Dorian liked him immediately.

“So you had some luck, I take it?” Vivienne asked.

The dwarf nodded, “That drop Samson gave us was good,” Varric agreed before he cast a glance around, “but I can’t say what we found was...well, it was pretty damned shocking, actually.”

Cassandra cocked an eyebrow, “Meaning?”

There was a pause, one that had Varric eyeing Cullen for a moment, before he dug into his bag and pulled out a small satchel. Whatever was in it sounded like glass and clinked around as he set it on the table, and immediately Cullen stiffened and went a bit pale. “Yeah, it’s a bit like that,” he told the Templar and licked his lips, “so you better stay the fuck away from this, alright?”

“Shit.”

That word, like a breath from Cullen’s scarred lips, hit Dorian in the chest. Then something else. Something...something  _ smelled _ strange. Like lyrium only...Maker, it was like lyrium set on fire. Varric pushed the satchel toward Dorian and Vivienne, the latter of which opened it to see several vials that looked exactly like what Dorian had used during his Circle days to help bolster his mana. Only it was wrong. It glowed and almost  _ hummed _ inside the thick glass that held it.

“The drop was right where Samson said it would be, all things accounted for, only...it wasn’t just dealers waiting,” Varric began, “not normal ones. You’d expect the seedy type, and there were a few there, but that’s not what’s got me worried.”

“You put it all in a report, I hope,” Cassandra prompted as she picked up one of the vials to inspect. Beside her, Cullen flinched and scooted away. He looked  _ horrified _ .

Varric nodded, “Yeah, I’ve got it all down for you, but you need to know it wasn’t some back alley lowlife that dropped this off,” he explained, “it came off a Chantry vessel, Seeker.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Would I lie about that?” Varric asked sharply, “Never mind the three guys in Samson’s manifest? The ones that were there to buy? Templars. Maybe...not in uniform, but I know one when I see one.”

Beside Cassandra, Cullen looked pale. He looked  _ sick _ , and Dorian couldn’t help the pounding in his heart out of worry. It looked like he was practically about to pass out in the chair. “They couldn’t,” Cullen mumbled, “not like that. How could they even get close to it?”

“Are you alright?” Cassandra asked.

He shook his head, “No,” and moved even further away, “it’s…it’s  _ singing _ .”

\--

After their little meeting, Dorian and Vivienne had been left with the red lyrium. Of course Dorian had wanted to see Cullen out, make sure he was alright, but he’d flashed a small smile to him when he made concerned noises. Dorian needed to trust that. Besides, not long after they’d left he felt his phone buzz in his pocket and there was no other person it could be. That said, he couldn’t answer just yet. He and Vivienne were walking back to their building, the small satchel Varric had left with them slung across Vivienne’s shoulders, though it was a mostly silent walk. Mostly.

“I wasn’t aware you knew Knight Commander Cullen,” she commented, “did you know him in Kirkwall?”

Alarm spread through Dorian like wildfire, “I...what makes you think I know him?”

“You shared a cab on the way out of the meeting last week,” Vivienne pointed out, “and that’s without introducing yourselves. You also look incredibly concerned about him.”

Maker help him. That was the last thing he’d wanted. “We met in Kirkwall,” Dorian answered, “er, not  _ in _ Kirkwall, but...there. At the airport. We were on the same flight that got canceled.”

“Ironic.”

“Serendipitous, I think.”

“And now you’re working together,” Vivienne chuckled, “that’s quite the makings of an interesting story later.”

Dorian nodded, “So it is,” and managed a small, tight smile. He had no idea whether or not to be worried. Cullen wasn’t  _ his _ Templar, so what should it matter? Right?

“Just be careful, my dear,” she offered, “Templars and mages have been lovers for centuries, but he  _ is _ a man and men are capable of hurting people just as much as anyone else.”

“You’re worried about my love life?” Dorian asked as he turned to actually study his mentor. He never would have believed it. Not in a million years. 

Vivienne laughed and patted his shoulder, “Of course I am, darling,” she told him, “you’re a talented man and you deserve someone who treats you right. Whether that’s a Templar or not, hm? You deserve the best.”

_ Don’t I know it, too. _ Dorian had always thought as much. Whatever this was with Cullen: distraction, friends with benefits, possible precursor to a real relationship; Dorian had been through enough with trying to keep his choices secret that he vowed to only be with someone who made him happy. Cullen...Cullen certainly did that.

“Now, that name Varric gave us,” Vivienne went on, “Corypheus-”

“That’s not a name,” Dorian pointed out, “that’s a...villain in a movie. Or a book. It’s as much a name as the Big Bad Wolf in children’s stories.”

She smiled, “I was going to ask,” and cast a sideward glance to meet Dorian’s gaze, “Tevinter in origin?”

“Maybe.”

“Hm,” Vivienne nodded, “well, we’ll worry about that once we know a bit more about this lyrium. I assume you’re headed to the lab?” Dorian was about to nod, but Vivienne shook her head, “You work on this when the others are out of there. No one can know what we’re doing with this, alright?”

“Tonight it is, then,” Dorian agreed. They were just outside their building by then and Vivienne opened the pouch to take two of the six vials before she handed the others over. Two for Dorian’s personal research, two for Vivienne’s, and two for the research for the task force. That much wa understood. He tucked the bag into his own and watched her go. Even those few seconds of having the bag open assaulted his nostrils with the very  _ wrong _ scent of the lyrium. It was like a mixture of the ozone-y blue kind but with something...it was like the smell of men.  _ Alive _ . It was a bit disturbing. 

_ Be fucking CAREFUL with it. Promise me. _

Cullen’s text didn’t make him feel any better about it either.

_ Promise. I have to be in the lab tonight. Come over? _

There was a bit of a wait in between messages, which Dorian used to get himself ready. He signed off for a couple of vials of the regular lyrium as well, partly for comparison and partly for personal use should he get too drained, and he studied the vials in his hands. They were like night and day. Good and evil. Dorian could practically hear the humming of the red vial go up his arm as he held it.

_ 9 okay? I’ll bring something with me if you want. _

\--

“There’s a problem.”

Cullen lifted his head from his paperwork and blinked when he saw Cassandra standing in his doorway. It was long after their shifts were over, and she looked about as tired as Cullen felt. Her normally professional looking blouse was open at the throat, and Cassandra’s eyes looked swollen and tired. More than that, she looked  _ worried _ .

“What is it?” Cullen asked.

She moved inside and closed the door behind her before taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk. “You had troubles when you went off the lyrium. I remember you saying it was very bad,” Cassandra began, “you would know what it looks like if you saw it?”

Amber eyes tracked her expressions. Cassandra was concerned, obviously, but she looked more than a little suspicious too. “I...probably, yeah,” Cullen answered, “why?”

There was a long pause, “The healers at the jail sent up word that something isn’t right with Samson,” she answered, which only made Cullen sit up straighter, “but they don’t know what it is. It’s the only explanation I can give, but...I wouldn’t know what going without lyrium looks like.”

Of course Cassandra wouldn’t. Seekers were different. Older-brothers to the Templar Order, they never took lyrium. Their powers came from their faith in the Chantry. They were arguably more nuns and priests than soldiers, despite their rank. “And you need me to go look in on him?” Cullen asked, “I thought after the interrogation-”

“I know, Cullen, I know,” she apologized, “that should be it. Asking more is cruel. You’re the only one who would know, though, and…”

“He’ll talk to me,” he supplied for her with a nod before he dropped the pen in his hand and rubbed at his face, “yeah, I know. I’ll go in the morning.”

“Sooner is better.”

_ Fuck. _

“I’ll go now,” he amended, with only a slight barb to his words, and Cullen got to his feet, “is there anything else? Ma’am?”

Cassandra stared up at him, “Just that,” she answered, and watched as Cullen gathered his things. She watched him check his phone, see if there was a message from Dorian, then licked her lip as he made for the door. “I’m sorry, Cullen,” she told him, “I am. You’ve done everything we asked for without complaint.”

“Just trying to make the Order better, Ma’am,” he replied before he walked out of his own office and left his boss there to watch him go.

\--

Dorian had lost all track of time. The lab emptied around seven, leave it to College mages to abandon their work when the promise of a hot meal made itself known, and Dorian had the whole night to work. He was actually a bit nervous to get on with the start of testing, given how the red vial made him feel and Cullen’s reaction to it. That didn’t stop him, however.

He was crouched over a microscope, one hand on the knobs and the other sketching how the lyrium looked under the magnification, and muttering to himself. Everything about it should have been fundamentally similar to the blue, but it wasn’t. It was a whole other animal. Actual animal.

It was alive. Dorian didn’t know  _ how _ it was, but he knew it down in his bones somehow. Even with just the first few looks over it, there wa no denying that something was... _ wrong _ . He wouldn’t even touch it, not without gloves, and it had been hot to the touch. Hot and throbbing like a heartbeat and Dorian had set the small crystal down to go gag over a trash bin. Now he was drawing the structure in his notes to compare with...something later. This was the only thing he could think to do off the top of his head while he wrapped his mind around it all.

The sound of someone clearing their throat behind him, quiet as it was, made him jump. Dorian frowned, half expecting to see a janitor or one of the other mages, but...no. Cullen. Cullen, who looked like he was about to be sick himself. He moved away from the table and shed his gloves before he moved in closer. The clock by the door read past ten, an hour after Cullen had said he’d get there and Dorian hadn’t noticed, and the man looked... _ haunted. _

“Cullen?” Dorian prompted gently, “you...alright?”

He shook his head, “Did you touch it?” Cullen asked, “the red stuff? You didn’t, did you?”

Dorian’s brows knit together. He could understand the question, especially for how Cullen had reacted before, but this was starting to scare him. “Not without protection,” he answered and held up a hand in the traditional Tevinter Young Magisters symbol, “scout’s honor.”

The Templar seemed to melt a little then before he closed the short distance and wrapped Dorian in a hug like he’d never been before. His lungs were practically squeezed empty and he had to pat Cullen’s shoulder to get him to let up enough for Dorian to be able to breathe. That didn’t mean he let go, though, and Dorian frowned as he felt Cullen bury his face in against his neck. One hand lifted to tangle in soft curls and he hugged the other man in as close as he could while they were both still able to breathe.

They stayed like that for a while before Dorian moved away to rest his hands on Cullen’s shoulders. Maker help them both, but Cullen looked  _ wrecked _ . “Talk to me?” Dorian prompted, “what’s wrong?”

Cullen took a few deep breaths, licked his lips, and lifted a hand to push at the inside corner of his eye that was starting to look a litle red and puffy. Like...like at the airport. “It’s  _ wrong _ ,” the Templar managed after a long moment, “I can hear it. It sings to make you want it.”

“Yeah, I noticed the hum in it,” Dorian agreed with  nod before he cupped Cullen’s cheek, “what happened?”

The hand not wiping at his eyes gripped at Dorian’s arm. Hard. Dorian had never been grabbed like that, not seriously, and it made his heart pound up near his throat as Cullen tried to get himself under control. “Samson’s been taking it,” he murmured, “Cassandra sent me to look at him, to see if it was lyrium withdrawals because she knew I’d know what that looked like, and he’s been  _ taking it _ . Instead of buying the blue he’s been...and now he’s coming down off it, and I don’t know what to do.”

Well, shit. What was he supposed to say to that?

“What can I do?”

The words left his mouth before he was really ready to say them, but there they were. Dorian blinked, shaken by his own selflessness, and took a breath. Surely there was something that could be done, if not for Samson’s safety but Cullen’s concern. Dorian could do something for  _ him _ . That was more important than anything else right at the moment anyway.

He thought for a long few moments before he leaned up and kissed Cullen’s forehead, “How about this?” Dorian offered, “take me to see him, and-”

“No.”

“ _ Before _ you argue,” Dorian went on, “this will help with me having samples of living tissue tainted with the red lyrium anyway. And then we can maybe figure out a way to help him.”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed, “I don’t think you should be close to him.”

Dorian cocked an eyebrow and folded his arms over his chest. For extra kick, he cocked his hip outward and studied Cullen for a long moment. Was he serious? To show up looking like  _ that _ and then refusing his help? “Please tell me this isn’t some worry that I’m not mature enough to meet your ex,” he mused, “this is hardly the time.”

“More like  _ I’m _ not mature enough for you to meet my ex,” Cullen argued, “not like this either.”

“Do you have any other options?” Dorian asked, “or why else would you have come to me like this?”

The Templar seemed to bristle for that, and Cullen tucked his hands in his pockets. He still looked haunted, scared, but he also looked  _ guilty _ . Or something like it. Like the last time he’d come to Dorian after Samson, Cullen was feeling guilty. Dorian could read it all over his face. Oddly, that helped. If he weren’t, Dorian might have been a little worried that he only saw Dorian as a means to help him through this situation with his ex. Clearly not. Hopefully not.

“I was hoping you’d have an idea,” Cullen admitted after a moment before he looked up to meet Dorian’s eyes, “I didn’t know who else to come to.”

That made him soften a bit and the mage reached out to cup Cullen’s face for a kiss, “You come here,” he murmured, “okay?”

So Dorian gathered up a bag with Maker only knew what. Everything he thought he might need and then some was crammed into it, and he tucked a few extra pairs of gloves into his pockets as well. One never knew, right? Cullen led them out to get a cab, and as they rode they linked their hands together. The man still looked upset, which Dorian couldn’t blame him for, but it was still concerning. He was trying very hard to not let himself be upset. Having an ex in the situation wasn’t something Dorian ever counted on, or wanted, but this? This wasn’t exactly Cullen not being able to get over him considering the man was in handcuffs and partially under Cullen’s protection.

“He made me promise not to touch it,” Cullen murmured after a while, though his gaze was fixed on where he was fidgeting with Dorian’s hand and the rings he wore, “I don’t know how I could. How could anyone put that anywhere near them on  _ purpose? _ ”

Dorian chewed a bit at his lip and just watched how Cullen touched him, “Some people can’t help themselves,” he pointed out, “but...I was worried about you. At tea you looked almost sick.”

Cullen was quiet for a long moment, and twitched the ring on Dorian’s index finger a bit. He seemed to like that one, twisted the turquoise band around to look at it, and squeezed Dorian’s hand. “I...don’t take lyrium anymore. I haven’t for a few months.”

There were few things Dorian knew about Southern Templars, but Dorian did know about lyrium. It was mostly a holdover from Ages past, though a good way to keep mages in check even still, but he knew that every Templar took lyrium. Taking lyrium, and as much as Templars had to, and then not...that was dangerous. It was just as addictive, if not more so, than anything anyone could cook up on their own. Only it was Chantry sanctioned and enforced. _How_ Cullen was able to not take lyrium was more surprising than anything. That was probably to do with Cassandra, but…

_ No wonder.  _

Dorian could only imagine what the red would sound like to someone addicted to lyrium. He took it on occasion, though never with any regularity, and he could feel how it hummed at him. Cullen had said it  _ sang _ , and Dorian shivered for both the memory and how he had often said much the same of a good bottle of wine when he was at his lower points. Maker help him, he couldn’t even begin to think of what it had to be liked for Cullen to be near it.

“Are you alright?” Dorian asked after a long pause, “it’s not...you’re okay without it, right?”

“Most days. Some days are worse.”

That sounded about right. Their hands squeezed together and Dorian leaned a bit more into the warmth of Cullen’s bulk. What more could Dorian say? So he just let himself be close. Talking too much, trying to sort out all those difficult feelings, wasn’t what they needed tonight. They needed to handle this situation with Samson and hopefully Dorian could learn something from it. Cullen would talk if he needed to.

“We’ll be careful,” Dorian promised softly, “Okay?”

\--

The jail was quiet. It was so quiet that Dorian hunched in on himself as they made their way down the hallway. Their shoes  _ thumped _ on the cold tile, a clinical and hollow kind of sound, and it echoed back onto them from beige painted brick. Maker knew Dorian had his share of nights in the drunk tank at Uni, but this? This made him feel cold all the way down to his  _ soul _ . How Cullen could walk ahead of him, head slightly bowed yet still standing completely upright, was beyond him.

He’d been given a visitor’s pass that clacked obnoxiously against itself. It hung around Dorian’s neck and practically called out that he didn’t understand this place. It was a Templar fortress, a place completely opposite to everything magical about himself, and not anywhere Dorian really wanted to be. Most of the cells were empty, which Dorian was glad for, and he could only wonder why someone would be locked up in this horrible place. Samson was a prisoner. Samson was a ‘person of interest’ who was being held under lock and key after being transported from Kirkwall to Orlais. How long had the man been in custody?

Cullen stopped short in front of a cell and quickly swiped his badge beside it to open the heavy metal door. It clicked open, jutted out just a little, and Dorian leaned up on his toes to look over Cullen’s shoulder at the lump of a man on the cot inside the cell. Samson. That was Samson. Samson who was curled in on himself in the fetal position like a child. Samson was trembling, Dorian could see it from even back at the doorway, and he reached out a hand to rest on Cullen’s shoulder.

“I can-”

“No,” Cullen interrupted with a shake of his head and stepped inside, “I’ve got it.”

The lump on the cot shifted a little, rolled halfway onto his back, and Dorian frowned. It was a reaction he couldn’t quite help for the sight. That man, Raleigh Samson, was Cullen’s ex. Dorian had expected...more. Something else. Cullen was an attractive man, could have anyone he wanted, and Samson was...well, he wasn’t what Dorian expected at all. The man was gaunt and sickly and pale, not in the same way Cullen was with the freckles and milky-soft skin, which was just...exacerbated by whatever was plaguing him. His mouse-brown hair hung like straw across the pillow and over his face. The man looked like he needed a bath despite the fact that he was probably able to shower once a day at least. Dorian pictured someone like Cullen with someone as equally broad and strong and handsome. Not someone so...sickly and thin.

A huff, “Back already?” Samson asked. His voice was more gruff than Dorian had expected. It was rough like sandpaper, though it rubbed in all the right ways. Suddenly it made a bit more sense. Maybe with some weight on and that sickly pallor gone Samson was something to behold. He looked so small and thin in the prisoner scrubs, but he was probably the same size as Dorian. That was...hard to believe.

Cullen rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, “I brought someone to look you over,” he offered, “someone who could help.”

“No healer in Thedas could fix this, Rutherford,” Samson scoffed, and leaned a bit forward to look at Dorian. He blinked, and Dorian couldn’t help but notice the man’s eyes were  _ red _ . Not sickly red, but  _ red _ where a normal color would be. They looked puffy and swollen like he’d been crying, wet and glistening, but they were so red. His whole...coloring, the man practically glowed. Had Cullen not noticed? 

“You need help-”

“I don’t need anything.”

Dorian bit at his lip and stepped in beside Cullen. He rested one hand on the Templar’s shoulder to ease him, and he smiled a little before moving in closer to the cot, “I’m Dorian Pavus,” he offered to Samson, “and I’m going to get a few samples from you so we can work out whatever this is.”

There was a beat of silence as Samson looked between Dorian and Cullen, then back to Dorian, “Tevinter?” he asked, then scoffed, “a fucking  _ magister _ ? All this for little old me?”

“Don’t be an ass, Sam,” Cullen warned.

Dorian was already digging in his bag for his gloves, which he pulled on, and held out a hand, “Can I see your hand?” He was no healer, he was an archivist at least and Necromancer at best, but he knew some things. The veins that stuck out in Samson’s neck and wrist were bright red and pulsing, looked painful, and Dorian frowned. They stuck out under that thin, pale skin and looked almost like the man was burning from the inside out. It was...he’d never seen anything like that.

He ditched his bag to set it on the floor before he looked back to Cullen, “Will you pass me what I need?” Dorian asked, “I don’t want to be digging in there and coming back to this.”

Despire how Dorian was poking and prodding at him, Samson quirked a slightly amused looking grin. Dorian only just recognized it, engrossed as he was by how  _ hard _ and yet so incredibly  _ delicate _ the man’s veins seemed. It was like they were made of glass and would shatter if Dorian touched them Samson, however, just sat back and watched them both as Dorian would ask for something and Cullen would pass it to him. It was a seamless motion. He could feel Cullen shifting, heat coming off him in waves, beside him. Something...was off about all of this everything.

“Where’s the nearest restroom?” Dorian asked, “I’m going to take some blood.” He’d need to wash his hands, and he wanted a moment to gather himself before he tried sticking those incredibly thin looking veins.

“Down the hall and to the left,” Cullen answered, and as Dorian got to his feet he pulled off hi gloves and rested a hand on the Templar’s shoulder. For just a moment Samson was forgotten, and they shared small, slightly sad smile. This was so dangerous, Vivienne would have his head if she knew he was going to get actual  _ samples _ without her approval, but it needed to be done. Based on the reports he’d read so far and what he’d seen, Dorian had some ideas but he wasn’t about to start throwing them around with both Samson and Cullen there. Instead he wanted to make Cullen at least feel like he’d made the best choice in asking him to come along.

He only just turned out of the room, however, when he heard Samson speak. That tone was amused, almost playful, and Dorian cocked an eyebrow for it: “So how long have you and the mage been fucking, then?”

“What?” Cullen. He sounded incredulous, but the man’s face was honest as the sun was bright. Dorian could hardly play off their situation, and Cullen was just far too open.

“You think I don’t know when you’re making moon eyes at someone?”

“It’s hardly moon eyes, and you know it.”

A chuckle, “How long have I known you? Come on.”

Dorian was leaned back against the wall just outside the cell doorway, out of sight and listening, and couldn’t help but smile a little. He could imagine Cullen was blushing by now. To have Samson, of all people, comment on it would be...well, embarrassing. It made Dorian’s blood heat just a little, though.

“It’s not any concern of yours, alright?” Cullen asked, “just...don’t be a dick. We’re trying to help.”

“While I appreciate the gesture of kindness, you bringing your new...what? Boyfriend? Fuck buddy? What’s this actually about?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Cullen countered. His teeth were gritted, or so it sounded like. He sounded tense.

“Whatever. You’re fucking each other. Tell me why you’re back here after you bit my head off before.”

“Because you’re...fucking...there’s  _ lyrium _ . I can  _ hear _ it.”

“Which is why you don’t touch it,” Samson’s voice was soft but firm, “you hear me? You let them do what they’re going to do, but you stay the  _ fuck _ away from it.”

“What could have possibly made you take it? Seriously, you were...you were  _ okay _ . What happened?”

A scoff, “Look, I gave the Seeker what she wanted to know and they’re letting me out. What’s going on with me isn’t your priority anymore, alright?”

“You’re in a cell, Sam, obviously something’s not right.”

“Look, you have your mage and your new life here and leave me to mine. Leave it alone.”

Dorian couldn’t listen anymore. He pushed off the wall and went to wash his hands like he said he was going to. Knowing Cullen was in there with someone who didn’t want to be helped was bad enough, but he was also Cullen’s  _ ex _ . To know that someone you cared for was so hopeless made his stomach feel sick. Whatever was going on with this lyrium, Samson taking it for whatever reason, and Dorian couldn’t imagine having to deal with it as an ex lover.

He poked his head back in a few minutes later, clean handed, and picked up another pair of gloves before he sat down on the bed where he’d been sitting before. Neither Samson nor Cullen were talking, and Cullen looked particularly sulky. He could only imagine what had come out after he’d moved away. So, Dorian pulled a few long swabs housed in test tubes from his bag and took a breath, “I’m going to take a few swabs from your mouth, alright?” he asked Samson.

The man shrugged, “At your leisure, mage,” and folded frail looking arms over his chest.

Dorian looked between him and Cullen before he uncapped a pen to write on the sticker on the tube, “Can you tell me how long you’ve been taking the lyrium?”

“Too long.”

“Specifically the red lyrium, then,” Dorian amended, “so I know how long it’s been in your system.”

“Three months regularly,” Samson answered in a grunt, “here and there before that.”

Dorian could practically feel Cullen frowning, and he wrote that down on the tube, “And your last dose?”

“A week ago, before they dragged me here.”

“Maker help us,” Cullen muttered, and Dorian shook his head before he opened the tube and pulled out the swab.

“Alright. Open up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on tumblr! @sallyamongpoison


End file.
